On Crimson Wings
by Contramancer
Summary: Response to GoldenSteel's My gf is a what? challenge. GoF: Hermione has a secret. One that even she doesn't know. When she unearths a highly dangerous ritual to help Harry in the first task, the two of them never expected that secret to hit them both and change them into Great Dragons! Are they doomed to be treated as beasts? What does this mean for the TWT? H/Hr; AD/RW/MW putdown.
1. Chapter 1

**On Crimson Wings.**

**Part 1 of The Heart of the Dragon.**

Harry's girlfriend has a secret. She's not human, but a magical creature. What happens when she receives her creature inheritance, and then passes it to Harry?

Rules:

No slash.

Can't use werewolf, vampire, or veela as the creature blood (waaaay overused).

Harry does not start out as the creature; his girlfriend converts him soon after her 15th or 16th birthday, when she hits her own inheritence. Harry may or may not know about her true nature before the change.

Harry and GF can use magic to disguise themselves as human.

Friendlier goblins, but they still have to be businessmen (they won't give Harry/GF everything they want).

Harry and GF learn some special kind of magic specific to their new creature forms and fighting with melee weapons from another of their race (GF's parents).

Harry and his GF only reveal their creature status to a very few trusted friends.

Harry must become a skilled Occlumens and Legilimens.

Harry uses his skills to change the battle of the Ministry for the better (ex. ambushing the DEs, bringing more friends, etc.) but there must be some sort of battle, and Voldemort is revealed. Harry (and possibly GF) must also reveal his (their) true form during the battle.

Recommendations:

Crossover (creature is from another book/movie/game)

Dumbles and Weasley Bashing.

5th year.

Snape as mentor and doesn't hate Harry as much after transformation (if used, Snape must be a creature himself).

Pairing with Hermione, Luna, Daphne, OC, or either Patil (or both :D).

Don't use a regular sword as the melee weapon.

Harry and GF have animagus forms, either before or after they become creatures.

If they have animagus forms before, change them with the inheritance transformation. If they get the form after, make it similar to their creature they become.

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Harry Potter, the world or the characters. They belong to J. , with gratitude for letting us play with them. The challenge comes from GoldenSteel, with gratitude for the ideas. The only thing I could lay claim to are the story and plotline, but that just seems greedy..._

**A quick author's note: ** There are two very important words for any writer to use when they start a story, in my opinion. Whether that story is a fanfic or an original work doesn't matter, only that the words are used. Please note that I do not say _written,_ because that isn't the point. The words are not _inspiration_, although they may well inspire, nor determination, although that too is often needed. These two words work best together, and should be used frequently as the story goes on.

"What are these two words of great and terrible power?" you ask? **_What if?_**

**On Crimson Wings.**

**Prologue:** _A Parent's Plight._

_She watched as her daughter climbed into the purple bus and the whole contraption vanished with a massive crack of displaced air. Her little one was growing up fast, and the Change would be upon her soon. If the blood didn't skip a generation, as it was wont to do if her kind mated with humans, then the child would undergo the Change at sixteen. That wasn't that far off, as her kind saw things, and her little one certainly had the scent of the beginnings of the Change. As her beloved, but all too human husband held her close, she whispered to him._

_ "I have to tell her soon, my love. She _will_ change, I'm afraid, and I'm scared she won't be ready for it."_

_ He held her tight. The way she looked out for what she saw as hers with such intensity was one of the reasons he loved her so. "Christmas, then. Tell her at Christmas. Those few months shouldn't make a difference, should it?"_

_ "I hope not," she murmured, "but she _is _hanging around with that boy. You _know_ nothing is ever _normal_ around him. She'll be lucky to _reach_ the Change at this rate."_

_ Kissing his wife to reassure her, he squeezed her tight again. "She'll be fine, Emily, or I'm not David Granger."_

**Chapter 1: Troubles Come In Threes.**

Harry Potter looked around at the platform as he boarded the Hogwarts Express. For a moment he took the chance to cast his mind back over the past few months, as far back as the hippogriff ride to save Sirius. Having a girl's arm around him for that time, drastically short as it was had inspired several dreams that could have been attributed solely to adolescent hormones, were it not for the fact that she was always the same girl. As he set foot on the train, he glanced ahead at his best friend, and not so coincidentally the girl in question, Hermione Granger. The dreams had started shortly after that night, of flying on Buckbeak, with her arms around him and her body pressed against his back. They didn't stay that way, though. The dreams became more heated, he supposed would be the word, as each dream had the flight lasting longer, and with fewer clothes in the way of them connecting like that. He'd told no-one, not even Sirius, of these dreams, not even the time they'd been forced aside by the nightmare of Voldemort killing that old man. Harry didn't _want_ to remember that one. In the last such dream he'd had, he was sure he'd been about to kiss her, but then he'd woken up and the Weasleys had brought him to the Burrow.

The next time he'd dreamed of flying, he felt like he was trying to flee from something that was hunting him down, all set to catch and cage him as some kind of trophy...

The Quidditch World Cup had been quite the eye-opener, and not just from learning about veela. They'd had almost every man there willing to jump from their seats to the pitch just for their smiles. Ron was still quite dopey over it that night, and only a handful or so of the men who'd been there had retained any control. He hadn't felt a compulsion like that before, and reluctantly admitted to himself that he might have remained under their thrall, without Hermione's voice. Suddenly, the veela's beautiful songs had sounded like ravens cawing madly, and the beauty of the non-human girls paled beside the way he felt and saw in Hermione's presence.

Shaking his head as he sat down in a compartment about halfway up the train, he listened with half his mind on the others' conversation, and joining in himself. The other half was trying to add things up, but some of the numbers seemed to be missing...

After Malfoy and his goons withdrew and Ron shattered the glass in the door slamming it behind them, Hermione sighed and cast a repairing charm on the door. Although she didn't know it, her thoughts were following a similar line to Harry's. There had been a tension, of sorts, at home, before she'd taken the Knight Bus to the Burrow, and her mother had obviously wanted to tell her something that her father had talked her out of. If Hermione had been less distracted by getting to see Harry again, and those recurring dreams of flying with him were... intense, she decided was the word for it. She'd always shared everything with her mum that she could, from the troll in first year through to the aid she'd given an innocent man to escape a fate quite literally worse than death. She hadn't mentioned the time-turner, though, not that she'd have been allowed to. After arriving at the Burrow, the dreams of flying had become nightmares, of being trapped in a high place with a massive red-haired ogre chuckling and chortling about how she'd be cooked and served. She shuddered.

Harry's eyes had slipped over her at that exact moment, and were suddenly filled with the question "Are you okay?" as clear as if he'd spoken aloud. Hermione nodded with a slight shrug, trying to convey the lack of sleep she'd been suffering. She must have gotten the point across as Harry moved next to her and let her use his shoulder as a pillow, neither noticing the glares this earned them from Ron, assuming his foul mood to be due to Malfoy. As she drifted off, Hermione had a moment or two stand out from the Quidditch World Cup: Harry shattering the thrall of veela allure at the sound of her voice, and the way Ginny was trembling at the time, as though torn between two differing desires. She passed much of the journey that way, but Harry wasn't going to complain...

Severus Snape rose from the couch at the end of his lair at the top of the Slytherin dungeons, pushing and squeezing his physical self into human form again. Soon the students would return so he felt it necessary to again become accustomed to remaining in this shape. He hated it. His room, right underneath the Black Lake, was certainly dank enough, but without the scent of mud and clay, it still felt wrong.

Carefully and deliberately, he attended to the potions he'd been brewing. There were three of them, each bubbling away at a different temperature. The first was the elixir he coated the old puppet's beloved lemon drops with, the ones kept in the bowl he himself had charmed to keep others from accepting them while the old man himself consumed them at least thrice a day. That potion rendered the 'Light Lord' Albus Dumbledore as pliable as a rubber wand, the better to protect Snape and his... less than legal activities. The old fool thought _so many_ of the disastrous decisions he made were his own choices, when it was really a horrible suggestion by Snape, and kept the Headmaster firmly protecting 'his' Potions master and Death Eater spy, even against hard evidence.

Severus' true nature was hidden from everyone. It always had been. No matter who he called 'Master', no matter whose 'bidding' he performed, he was always the one in charge, the one making the choices. He'd never told his childhood friend, he'd never told the Dark Lord, and he'd certainly never told Dumbledore, exactly what he really was. Severus Snape was a dragon. Not just any dragon, either, but a Great Dragon, a Wyrm as they were referred to, which was bigger, stronger and smarter than any regular dragon. Only the Hungarian Horntail came close, by dint of sheer ferocity, a twenty-foot long living machine of destruction. Snape sneered, habitually. He himself was of the breed once called the Ligurian Grey, before the Ministry of Magic declared _all_ dragons to be mindless beasts and started confiscating their hoards. That led to the dragons either fighting back, or changing what they felt constituted a hoard. After thirty years of persecution, the Great Dragons had disappeared, leading the Ministry, with all its customary efficiency and competence (not much, in other words) to declare them extinct, and dismiss the families who'd been charged to hunt the Wyrms: families that included the Prewetts, Weasleys, MacNairs... and the Potters.

That fact alone was reason enough for him to hate Harry Potter, but then the brat had the temerity to destroy Snape's meal ticket, the throne he was the power behind, by killing Voldemort. It could take decades to properly train another Dark Lord. Then when the brat showed up, he had the audacity to unmask and destroy the Dark Lord again, then to kill a basilisk with a sword and destroy that diary the next year. Then that business with the mudblood, Black and the Hippogriff. It was as if he didn't care how hard Severus had to work at this puppet-master business, the arrogant snot. (The little voice that would have mentioned something about pots and kettles was distinctly absent in Snape's psyche.)

He turned to his potions once more, tending carefully to them as his schemes unfolded in his mind. Now if he could only figure out why the school was smelling strongly of sulphur...

Harry nudged Hermione gently to wake her as the train drew close to Hogsmeade, having waved Neville and Ron into the corridor. "I'll be there soon," he said, although he left certain details out that he'd thought long and hard about during the journey. "I just have to wake Hermione up." Again, the truth, but by no means all of it. As his bushy-haired friend struggled from the depths of sleep, apologizing for using him as a pillow for so long, he waved aside her apology.

"It was my honour to cushion your tired head, Hermione," he said, in a voice that brooked no argument. "Besides, it helped me figure something out. For most of the Summer, I've been looking forward to today, and for the rest of it I was really confused and torn. When you fell asleep on my shoulder like that, it settled something. The best night of my life was that night we saved Sirius, and I've realized that it's not because we saved Sirius. That was good, but there were only fifteen minutes that night that made it the single most wonderful night ever."

Hermione's eyes brimmed with tears. That sounded... romantic! But it was impossible, a gruff and familiar voice told her, though she couldn't place it. No, the Boy-Who-Lived was too good for her, she wasn't worthy of someone like him, she'd have to settle for the sidekick... That thought was just too much, and Hermione's blood heated, her entire body going furnace-hot in an instant, before dropping back to normal. She didn't notice. Mentally she was screaming at the voice to _shut the hell up!_ Her dream was coming true, the one she'd quietly held close since first year with the troll, the one she'd almost told him about at the end of the year as he went to face Quirrel. What would have changed if she'd had the courage to say the word 'love' to him then? The potion in her system was destroyed in that instant of incredible heat, and the voice immediately went silent.

Harry saw her tears, her happy smile, and looked down, so he missed the moments of inner rage at this depressing voice, and when he'd gathered his courage, he spoke. "Hermione, will you...{_gulp_}... be my girlfriend, please?" He panicked, which she thought somewhat cute, although she'd have to help him with that before he met her family. Giggling for only the second time in her life, and the first time she'd meant it, she answered "Yes, Harry, I'd love to," thinking as she did that he was really something. Trolls, Dark Lords, gigantic spiders, basilisks, murderous traitors and werewolves didn't seem to faze him, but confessing his feelings to a girl terrified him...

As the two of them emerged from the Hogwarts Express onto the Hogsmeade platform, to be greeted by the loud voice of Hagrid, they almost didn't realize they were still holding hands, nor did they notice the one who saw it and silently raged...

.


	2. Chapter 2

**On Crimson Wings.**

**Part 1 of The Heart of the Dragon.**

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Harry Potter, the world or the characters. They belong to J. , with gratitude for letting us play with them. The challenge comes from GoldenSteel, with gratitude for the ideas. The only thing I could lay claim to are the story and plotline, but that just seems greedy..._

_The sorting hat's song is taken verbatim from Goblet of Fire, and I don't lay any claim to it either. The Hat might, though._

**Chapter 2: Entrances and Exits.**

The hammering, ice-cold downpour made them grateful to reach a carriage only lightly damp, and as Harry and Hermione sat across from Ron and Neville, their hands almost immediately sought each other out for extra warmth. As their fingers locked together, they saw Neville smiling, and Ron scowling.

"What?" Harry asked in bafflement. Ron's grunted "Nothing" barely qualified as an answer, and could not have been a more blatant falsehood had he waved crossed fingers in their faces. Neville's grin grew even wider.

"Last year, the twins were running a pool on when you two'd get together with someone, and who it'd be. I let McGonagall know about it and she went to talk to them, but three days later they were still taking bets," he said.

Hermione would have been indignant, but the feel of Harry's hand in hers had her in too good a mood. She'd been feeling much better since that burst of heat on the Express. "Are you telling me that our Head of House knows about this and lets it go?" she asked, her tone coming off as more curious than upset, and Ron's scowl deepened and darkened as she gripped her boyfriend's hand a little tighter.

Neville kept grinning. "I caught a glimpse of their book just before we all went home last year," he said, casually. "McGonagall had bet that the two of you would get together on the Express on the way back to school, and there was only her name there."

Harry guessed that Neville would not be smiling quite that much if that was all of it. "So what did you do about it, Neville?" His question cut across Hermione's response.

"I put five galleons on the same day, of course," Neville answered. "After all, if she saw that as a good day to bet on, instead of forcing them to close their book, then she must've known something, mustn't she?"

* * *

By the time their carriage reached the castle, the weather had, if anything, worsened. Ron's mood apparently matched it, but Neville, Harry and Hermione managed to keep the mood light. As they got drenched the instant they climbed out of the carriage, they didn't care overly much when Peeves pelted them with water-balloons. As Professor McGonagall skidded on the wet, almost waterlogged, floor and caught at Hermione and Harry for support, all the while berating the pesky poltergeist, while carefully ignoring Ron' snorting laughter, she did notice their linked hands, and the way they huddled close for warmth, making a mental note to get the Weasley twins to pay up.

The Great Hall was much warmer than outside, and as everyone squeezed what water they could from their robes, Harry noted that his and Hermione's robes were almost dry, even as Ron emptied his trainers as best he could. Ron still scowled when he looked in Harry's direction, but with the distraction that was the Welcoming Feast, he couldn't maintain it.

Harry found himself seated between Hermione and Neville, with an over-energetic Colin Creevey across from him.

"HeyHarryIhopeyouhadagoodholi daydidyouknowmybrother'scomingmybrotherDennisiscomi ngtoHogwartsthisyearI'msoexciteddoyouthinkhe'llbeinGryffindortoo?" Colin's voice went non-stop, and those around him had difficulty peeling apart the words to insert punctuation.

"Well," Hermione said once she'd parsed his sentences, "brothers and sisters don't always go to the same House, I mean, look at the Patil twins." The two Indian girls were in Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. "But don't get too discouraged, there's also the Weasleys, they're all Lions. It could go either way, really."

As they looked around, Hermione noticed an absence at the staff table. "Where's the new DADA teacher?" she asked, and Harry shrugged in reply. Her hair had been right in his face as she turned her head, filling his nose with the scent of vanilla and... there were other scents that he wasn't familiar with. He dragged his attention back to her voice as she continued. "You don't suppose he wasn't able to find one, do you?" Anxiety filled her face.

Harry gazed over at the staff table himself, mentally cataloguing the teachers he saw: Flitwick for Charms, yes, Sprout for Herbology next to him, Astronomy was covered by Sinistra, there she was, just sitting down now, Snape for Potions, pity _he _wasn't missing, that empty seat must be McGonagall's, there's Dumbledore, what's he looking at? Harry's musing was derailed as he glanced up at the ceiling, which was covered in black and purple clouds, much like the sky outside which it was enchanted to resemble. Luckily, all the water on the floor was from entering students, the illusion wasn't that good, thank heavens. As Harry watched, there was a flash of lightning and thunder roared through the Hall. A few seats away Ron was grumbling about how long this was taking.

"I could eat a hippogriff," he muttered. No sooner did the words pass his lips than the first years entered the Hall, one of them nearly completely hidden under the wrappings of Hagrid's oversized moleskin overcoat. His stage-whisper carried to Colin as a fist with the thumb up emerged from his covering.

"I fell in the lake!" This had to be Dennis, and the delight in his voice led the new couple to the belief that he would be nothing else but a Gryffindor.

After the Sorting Ceremony was explained, the battered old Sorting Hat began its song, a different one from what Harry recalled at their own sorting.

"_A thousand years or more ago,_

_When I was newly sewn,_

_There lived four wizards of renown,_

_Whose names are still well known._

_Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,_

_Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,_

_Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,_

_Shrewd Slytherin, from Fen._

_They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,_

_They hatched a daring plan,_

_To educate young sorcerers,_

_Thus Hogwarts School began._

_Now each of these four founders,_

_Formed their own House, for each,_

_Did value different virtues,_

_In those they had to teach._

_By Gryffindor, the bravest were_

_Prized far beyond the rest;_

_For Ravenclaw, the cleverest_

_Would always be the best;_

_For Hufflepuff, hard workers were_

_Most worthy of admission;_

_And power-hungry Slytherin_

_Loved those of great ambition._

_While still alive they did divide_

_Their favourites from the throng,_

_Yet how to pick the worthy ones_

_When they were dead and gone?_

_'Twas Gryffindor who found the way,_

_He whipped me off his head_

_The founders put some brains in me_

_So I could choose instead!_

_Now slip me snug about your ears,_

_I've never yet been wrong,_

_I'll take a look inside your mind_

_And tell where you belong!"_

As the Hall echoed and rang from the applause for the Hat's song, harry commented on the difference. Since Ron was still upset with him, for some reason, it was Neville who supplied the answer. "It's been different every year, Harry. You've just missed it a couple of times."

The Sorting itself went fairly quickly, fifteen minutes, twenty at the most, with the hat needing no longer for any one child than another.

As Dumbledore summoned up the feast and told them all to tuck in, the Hall echoed again as a plaintive voice rang above the thunder "Finally!" All of the Gryffindors stared at a shameless Ron Weasley, who was starting to inhale the food before him.

Hermione was surprised by her own appetite, not even noticing the comments the ghosts were making about the house elves working at Hogwarts. She still ate with manners and decorum, but she put away quite a bit more food than usual, especially the fish. By the time she'd realised exactly who and what had made her dinner, and all the dinners and snacks and other meals here at Hogwarts, she'd already finished eating. "_Hmm, I should talk to them, _"she mused, wondering on another level how and why she'd devoured that much food. "_Find out how they're treated, what goes on with house elves, make sure they're well treated..._"

* * *

As the feast wound down, with most of the inhabitants of the castle having eaten their fill, the Headmaster stood, triggering the usual silence as they waited for his speech. "Now that we are all somewhat sated, I have a few announcements," he said. "First, Mr Filch has asked me to again announce that the list of items banned in the halls has expanded. The full list includes some four hundred and thirty seven items, and can be found in his office, for those who are interested. Next, the Forbidden Forest is _still _off-limits to students, or, to quote my deputy, we would have changed the name to the Come-and-have-a-picnic Forest." Said deputy was glaring at the oblivious Headmaster. "Third, it falls to me to announce that regrettably, there will be no Quidditch Cup this year..."

Whatever else the old wizard had been about to say was drowned beneath the echoes of the resounding "What?" roared from the mouths of most of the student body. As the noise dulled to a moderate, if constant muttering, they all heard the Weasley twins call out.

"You're JOKING!"

"No, actually, although now that you mention it, I did hear a most excellent one over the Summer. It seems a dwarf, a goblin and a centaur walk into a bar..."

As Professor McGonagall dragged the errant Headmaster back to the topic at hand, Snape quietly smacked his face into his palm. The potions he'd laced the lemon drops with certainly made the old man more susceptible to his suggestions, but occasionally they also had the side effect of making it hard to focus one's mind, this case in point.

Dumbledore announcing the TriWizard Tournament silenced the naysayers among the crowd of students, and Harry glanced around the Hall. He was getting a bad feeling about this situation. Concentrating, he focused instead on the girl beside him, reaching for her hand.

Further up the table, Ron noticed this and his mood grew blacker. "_Harry could have any girl at the school, so why does he want her?_" he thought, anger and jealousy driving all logic from his mind. "_Why does he want the girl I want?_" Not once did it occur to him that he'd never let Harry know this, let alone Hermione.

Dumbledore was still speaking, and the students quieted to hear him. "Due to the potential for danger, it has been decided by the ministry that only those of adult age, that is to say seventeen, are to be permitted to compete. This will be enforced via means of an Age Line Ward, set by myself." The Hall echoed with the groans of the disappointed. "And finally, you will all be glad to know the Position of Defence Against the Dark Arts has-"

The clap of thunder that accompanied the door of the Great Hall slamming open was nigh on deafening. The flare of a lightning strike outside the door backlit the appearance of the man in the doorway. As he made his way into the Hall, everyone stared. The stranger was missing one leg at the knee, clumping along on a peg-leg and a thick walking stick, and his right eye was gone. In its place was a blue glass orb that constantly spun in the leather harness and brass setting that held it in place. As he strode up the Hall, the Headmaster continued.

"Has been filled, as I was saying, by the ex-auror, and now professor, Alastor Moody. I'm sure you'll learn a great deal with him."

* * *

With the announcements, school song and Sorting dealt with, the students filed out of the Great Hall, and Harry quietly questioned his friends. "What's up with this tournament? I know the Headmaster spoke about it but I was a little distracted."

Fred and George came up behind the teenage couple. "It's a major competition, and the big prize is a thousand galleons," said one of the twins, most likely George.

Fred, probably, joined in. "But it's not easy money, the Champions have to undertake three magical Tasks..."

"And those are pretty dangerous..."

"Not to mention this hasn't been done..."

"Since 1792, when all three Champions were killed," they both chorused.

Harry shivered, prompting Hermione to clutch his arm to provide extra support, but Ron shoving past on his way to the dorms kept her from her now boyfriend's side until it had passed.

"I'm just glad I can't compete, then," Harry said quietly. Ahead of them, Ron snorted with disbelief, although Neville and Hermione just nodded, and Fred and George grinned.

* * *

As they sat close together, reading for their classes the next day before departing for bed, Harry became aware of his girlfriend's scent once more, this time identifying another part of the puzzle. Sea salt. His beloved Hermione smelled of vanilla and ocean breezes. Later, as he drifted off to sleep, he dreamed again of the flight on Buckbeak, this time out over the sea... in a thunderstorm. Ron really needed to silence his bed-curtains...

* * *

In his lair, Severus Snape snarled at the potion. His... pawn was a good word... yes, his _pawn_ had returned them, saying they were losing effect and he needed something stronger. Snape smirked villainously. If the pawn knew who was really pulling the strings in this matter, he'd be appalled. Still, it wouldn't do for the mudblood girl to interfere with Snape's long-dreamed of revenge. So the disguised Wyrm tested the potion on two rats he'd caught, keying the potion to each. The resulting activity of the rodents revealed the potion to be working perfectly. There was no reason he could fathom that it shouldn't be having its full effects on the Granger chit. It was a puzzle, indeed. Perhaps his puppet should instigate the potioning of the brat? Tie him to the obsessed and possession-damaged Weasley girl? This required planning and subtlety. It simply wouldn't do for his plans to ignore any possibilities...

And that smell still lingered in the Halls. If anything it had gotten worse when the, _gah_, children got back to the school. Snape had been hoping that their stenches would cover the other odour, but it was as if they'd brought it with them. That sulphurous stink, blended with... sea salt and something else, overlaying a hint of some other, somewhat familiar smell...


	3. Chapter 3

**On Crimson Wings.**

**Part 1 of The Heart of the Dragon.**

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Harry Potter, the world or the characters. They belong to J. , with gratitude for letting us play with them. The challenge comes from GoldenSteel, with gratitude for the ideas. The only thing I could lay claim to are the story and plotline, but that just seems greedy..._

**Chapter 3: Curses, Conspiracies and Plain Bad Luck.**

The classes over the next couple of days were interesting, particularly as Harry had decided to drop divination, taking Ancient Runes instead, and asking Hermione to help him catch up. Professor McGonagall was only too delighted to arrange it, although the older witch made sure Harry knew exactly what he was getting into.

"It's not an easy discipline, Mr Potter," she told him. "It certainly help[s little that you have missed the previous year of the curriculum."

"With Hermione taking it," he replied, "I couldn't avoid picking up some information on the subject." His tone was reasonable as he glanced in his girlfriend's direction. "With a little push from her now and then, I'm sure I can manage."

By the time he entered his first lesson in the subject, Hermione had given him the general gist of the subject. Of course, what no-one had taken into account was the personalities involved. The bushy-haired witch's 'general gist' equated with, for example, McGonagall's 'comprehensive basics', and Ron's 'mind-numbing know-it-all-ism'. Harry was having little difficulty with the subject he had chosen.

* * *

The talk of the school centred on the new Defence professor. 'Mad-eye' Moody had been an exceptional auror in the DMLE and had only 'retired' for two reasons. The first was that chasing Dark Wizards was 'a young mug's game', and he was not only getting long in the tooth, but his missing leg slowed down exactly how much chasing he could actually do.

The second, according to rumour, was his rampant paranoia. After being an auror for so many years, the man had starting seeing assassins in every shadow. Privately, Harry wondered aloud to Hermione how many enemies the scarred old wizard had made, and how many times 'paranoia' had been proven right. Now, apparently, he was here to pass on that mindset and some of his skills. Ron had looked at his schedule and groaned when he found how long they had to wait for their first lesson with him.

* * *

Defence seemed to begin innocuously enough, but as Ron entered the classroom ahead of the others, the door slammed shut. Seconds later it opened to reveal an empty classroom. The same thing happened each time someone entered, and going in by ones or twos, threes or fours didn't seem to make any difference. Harry sat down across the corridor from the Defence classroom, and waved Hermione to sit beside him. Draco sneered, taunted them for cowards, and he, Crabbe and Goyle entered the room ready for a fight... and disappeared just like the others. Neville sat beside Harry, catching on to his plan, and a little further up the corridor, Greengrass and Davis from Slytherin, as well as Susan Bones from Hufflepuff, likewise waited at rest, while 'braver' students continued to enter the room and vanish. Soon enough, there was just a handful of teenagers in the corridor.

After about five minutes, the classroom door was suddenly filled as Professor Moody spun into view from behind it, to find himself staring down the business ends of several wands. As the ex-auror's enchanted eye spun in its socket, he huffed. "Well done," he spoke gruffly, "each of you gets ten points for your House." He stood aside and allowed them to enter the room. "Lesson one: CONSTANT VIGILANCE! If something seems wrong, it is. Now get to your seats." As he spoke, Moody was lowering the students he'd caught from the ceiling and releasing their petrification. "Lesson two: If you don't like the game, change the rules. When you find a door that mysteriously disappears anyone who goes through it, then if you have _any_ sense, you don't go through it."

The students thus far were very impressed, even Draco, as although the first words out of his mouth were his by-now-infamous "When my father hears about this...", he kept them at a very low volume. He _really _didn't want to spend any more time as a ferret. Professor Moody was scary.

"It says here that the curriculum is to focus on ways and means of fighting Dark Wizards or Witches and Dark creatures," the battle-worn teacher said, before throwing the book in the air and following it with a 'Reducto'. As the resulting confetti showered over the classroom, he went on, at high volume. "MINISTRY-SPONSORED TWADDLE! How are you supposed to fight 'em, if you don't know what you're fighting? So for today, I'm going to teach you about the Unforgivable Curses..."

The rest of the lesson had been disturbing. Professor Moody had demonstrated each of the curses on an enlarged spider, and then proceeded to teach them how to resist the Imperius Curse, by the method of placing them under it and giving them nonsense orders to carry out which they had to resist. Ron had turned out to be particularly susceptible for some reason, and was still suffering the effects over an hour later as he skipped... yes, skipped... to their next class. Harry had been able to throw off the curse almost at once, where most of the class had been little more than puppets. Hermione had found herself wrapped in the spell, able to understand what the professor wanted her to do, but not really compelled to it. She'd done it anyway, no need to let on that she couldn't be compelled, and Draco had been paying far too much attention to the wand motion and incantation when it wasn't his turn as the victim for her ease of mind.

* * *

As the month progressed, tension and excitement built at the school, although Ron seemed to alternate between excitement at the prospect of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and depressed for some reason no-one could convince him to talk about. For the first week, Hermione wondered why she kept looking for him. It wasn't like her to feel so fickle, and she was in love with Harry, wasn't she? She'd become so torn and worried she'd stopped eating, and worse (as well as attracting Harry's attention to the problem), she ignored schoolwork and didn't even pick up a book for two days. It was difficult, but Harry'd managed to convince her to come with him to Madam Pomfrey to get checked out. The results were devastating.

"_What_ did you say was done to me?" she snapped out, the question burning in her mind. Madam Pomfrey took a deep breath, and answered calmly.

"You've been subjected to a variety of love potions, Miss Granger," she said. "They've been increasingly more potent, and there's a two month gap where you weren't being dosed at all, although with the residue of these things as mixed as they are, I can't tell when with any precision. All I can say is that until these vile concoctions are purged from your system, _all_ of your romantic urges over the past year are somewhat suspect."

Glancing over at Harry, who was sitting patiently by the doors, reading his Defence textbook, Hermione forced her mind to work, rather than focus solely on either he or the absent Ron. "I doubt Harry would have brought me here if he was responsible for this," she mused aloud. "It _could_ have been someone else dosing me with him keyed in, but I can't even guess who'd have motive for that. The only other feelings I've been having through that time are for Ron, and now that I think about it, instead of obsessing over him, I can't even guess why I'd have them. He's good with Quidditch Trivia, Wizard's Chess and eating with no sign of table manners, and we can hear his snoring from the girls' dormitories. Motive on that side is easier to figure out, too, although it isn't limited to Ron himself." Looking up at the shocked mediwitch, she continued. "In Ron's case, I don't want to believe it, but it could be the potion saying that. If it's not him, then it could be any one of a number of girls who want Harry for themselves. But I'm never going to know what's up with the potions still in me. How long does the Purgative Potion take to clean me out?"

"It's a most unpleasant twelve hours," Madam Pomfrey replied. "The potion works by forcing all potions in your body into your wastes, as well as forcing... regurgitation, so any potions in your stomach are expelled as well. It is a very messy process. I have some here, and it takes an hour to begin having an effect, so you can tell Mr Potter, and anyone else you may wish to. By law and School regulation, I have to report this level of potion abuse unless my patient insists on... confidentiality..." Poppy Pomfrey shook her head and looked around. "How odd. That was the most intense episode of deja vu I've ever had..."

Hermione recognised the symptoms of a repeated Obliviation of the same subject matter in different circumstances. "Maybe you should report it to the DMLE first," she suggested, "and then to the Headmaster _after_ the legal side has been dealt with."

* * *

Harry didn't react well to the news that she had been dosed. He gladly supplied a hair so that Madam Pomfrey could test to see whether or not the potion had been keyed to him. A simple test had already confirmed that the potion was indeed keyed to someone, and wasn't the hit-or-miss 'first person you see' of an unkeyed potion. He was controlling himself well, but the feeling of his magic blended with his rage at whoever would remove her choices was palpable. It warmed Hermione to know he was this angry on her behalf. He flatly refused to leave her alone for the duration of her stay, and since it was a Saturday, there were no classes for him to worry about. If it hadn't been for the cancellation of Quidditch this year, he _might_ have been called to that, although he insisted he'd have blown that off too.

"Honestly, Hermione," he told her with an impish grin at using a phrase that more commonly featured his name in her voice than hers in his, "while I do like to fly, and I am a decent Seeker," here there was a distant snort as Madam Pomfrey compared his definition of decent with anyone else's unbelievably good, "if I had to choose between haring around a Quidditch pitch, chased by Bludgers and trying to get hold of an annoying little gold ball, or spending the afternoon and night cleaning up for you and holding back your hair as you... purge yourself, the whole thing is a foregone conclusion."

Madam Pomfrey smiled at that, while Hermione just hugged him, almost putting him in the next bed with fractured ribs, he thought. Sadly the mediwitch had more news that wasn't going to go down well. As she approached and began to speak, she held up a vial of smoky liquid that contained Harry's donated hair.

"This potion is designed to detect emotion-altering potions and is made with a drop of the victim's blood," she said, beginning the painful explanation. "If the potion had gone pink, then we would have evidence of a love potion, red would be a rage draught, purple a lust potion, green a jealousy potion and so on. The hair of someone who isn't keyed into a potion would have no effect, and leave the potion perfectly clear." Gritting her teeth, the mediwitch went on. "Gold is a loyalty potion, but this smoky grey... it's an apathy draught. It inspires a disinterest towards the keyed target. This disinterest can only be overcome in one of two ways: the first is by removal of the potion from the system. This is by far the most common method. The other is True Love. The willingness to do anything, and I do mean _anything_, to make the other happy, is the only thing that the potion cannot override."

Hermione saw immediately what the older witch was trying to say. "So because Harry was the key for the apathy potion, my feelings for him aren't suspect? They're actually real, and true?" Madam Pomfrey nodded, and Hermione hugged her boyfriend again. "That's great, Harry! I felt it when you said you'd rather... clean up my... mess than fly, but this means _urp..._ uh-oh..."

Harry conjured the bucket for her just in time, and true to his word, held back her hair.

* * *

It was the thirtieth now, and Harry and Hermione had made a point of avoiding Ron for the past two weeks. As the school assembled for their guests to arrive for the Tournament, the couple were trying out something Harry had come up with in Ancient Runes. By stitching the Runes for warmth and endurance into the hems of their cloaks (Harry having had to repair Dudley's hand-me-downs more than once), they were both toasty-warm where most others in the school were shivering at least a little, even through warming charms, which wore off and required recasting every now and then. The arrival of the Beaubatons carriage, large enough to be a section of the school itself and drawn by the massive Abraxan winged horses was suitably impressive, although they seemed somewhat nervous about something they smelled. There were a few Veela among the girls, and a large number of boys were touched by the effects of the Allure they projected. Hermione glanced at Harry, who seemed unaffected, looking more at the Abraxans than the students.

When the Durmstrang ship emerged from the depths of the Black Lake, the raven-haired wizard looked impressed, and may well have been the only person in the school affiliated in any way with Quidditch who _didn't_ go spare when Viktor Krum emerged from the vessel. All in all, there were forty guests from each of the other schools, and a few teachers as well. Hermione felt her nose twitch a little, and wondered what that meant.

* * *

The Feast was a most impressive affair, even for Hogwarts. The Durmstrang students sat with the Slytherins, while Beauxbatons were at the Ravenclaw table. One of them gave a derisive laugh when Dumbledore gave a somewhat befuddled welcome and wished them to enjoy their stay. It was as Harry was talking with Hermione and Ron about Hagrid's Blast-ended Skrewts (an unstable cross between Manticore and Fire Crab, from what anyone had been able to tell) that he heard the voice of that girl again, even as Ron's jaw dropped and his face went slack.

"Pardonnez moi, are you fineeshed wiss ze bouillabaisse?" Harry glanced back over his shoulder at the girl, who'd lowered her muffler in favour of clearer communication. Her silvery-blonde hair cascaded to her waist, and there wasn't a single imperfection about her. In Harry's considered opinion, she was the second-most beautiful girl he'd ever seen.

"Second," he muttered, unaware of his speaking aloud as he turned away. "Go ahead," he answered her question as he turned his full attention to his girlfriend, "Hermione says it's very nice, and I already have a bowlful. Hope it's as good as what you're probably used to back in France." With that, she was gone from his attention.

Inwardly seething at the 'second' comment, the girl turned on the charm... and her allure. "You are certain?" In several places up and down the table, a lot of boys (and a few girls) began to stare, getting a little hot and bothered.

Harry nodded absently. "You're right Hermione, this _is _very nice," he said as he tasted the vegetable soup dish. As he continued to dine, with Hermione inwardly grateful, and somewhat smug if she admitted it to herself, at his ignoring a Veela girl (as the French maiden so obviously was) in favour of _her_, the Veela leaned between them, lifting the bouillabaisse dish in such a way as to show off her... physique, and sauntered off to the Ravenclaw table with it. Not that Harry noticed, focused as he was on his meal _and _the girl he considered _the_ most beautiful he'd ever met, one Miss Hermione Granger.

* * *

The end of the feast saw Professor Dumbledore rise to speak. As he began, the school caretaker, Mr Filch, dragged a covered object into the Great Hall. Hermione glanced around the Hall as he did, seeing a handful of people shaking their heads, as if in regret. Memorizing their faces and uniforms was simple enough, as there were two from Durmstrang, an older boy around sixteen if she had to guess, and a girl about her own age. The other two were from Beauxbatons, again a boy and a girl, this time both about fourteen or so. She returned her attention to Dumbledore as her nose twitched again. She was smelling something she couldn't place, she realised, something she'd never smelled before...

Severus Snape was not happy. Although the Tournament would provide Voldemort's agent a chance to abduct or even kill the Potter brat, the presence of other dragons in what he considered _his_ domain was a horrendous pressure. He could smell them, young ones, trying to find their own domains, most likely. It was hard to pick out the exact numbers from that smell that had been pervading the castle for the last two months... His eyes widened, even as Dumbledore went on about the age line that would stop anyone below seventeen from putting their names in (as if that would stop someone from throwing it in from further away, or getting an older person to put it in for them). "_There's been a dragonling here all along_," he concluded with shock that he hadn't thought of this before. "_Sulphur and sea salt... must be a Welsh Red... wonderful..._" Even in his thoughts, the last word was drawled out with copious helpings of sarcasm. Now that other Great Dragons were here, it would even harder to find out who the interloper was...

"...Please be very sure, therefore, that you are whole-heartedly prepared to play, before dropping your name into the Goblet. Now, I believe it is time for bed. Goodnight to you all." Dumbledore's speech wound to a close, and as the students filed out of the Hall, Harry with Hermione's hand in his, there was a great deal of discussion going on.

The Weasley twins, Fred and George, were certain they could find a way around the age line, although most of their friends weren't too sure about that. The low point of the evening was Ron's approach.

"So, Harry, how come you're not broken up about the age line? You've already got some way around it, don't you? You've got the girl, now you just have to get the fame and the fortune, eh? Care to share, give us a fair shot?" Harry thought it quite impressive that Ron could manage to sneer _and _wheedle at the same time.

As Hermione's grip on his arm tightened, Harry replied calmly, with a wide grin on his face. "Actually, Ron, I'm quite happy they did that. You heard Dumbledore, the last time this Tournament took place, all the Champions _died_. I think I've been through enough of that without volunteering." He patted Hermione's hand reassuringly. "Frankly, I'm looking forward to being a spectator this time around. I'm not going looking for trouble to dive headlong into."

Hermione answered him, despite there being no question. "Of course you don't, Harry. It just knows where you live and invites itself around for tea." With that they all set off for bed.

* * *

Throughout the next day, the Great Hall saw many visitors, and spectators for the few attempts to circumvent the age line. Fred and George tried an Ageing Potion, and wound up as Old men, although madam Pomfrey was able to put them to rights.

That evening, being Halloween, saw Harry somewhat down. He'd never really liked the big celebrations that the Wizarding World held on this day, as it reminded him of his parents' death, all the more so after last year, and he'd spent the day in a dwindling mood. Hermione's wordless support meant the world to him. She didn't ask him to talk, simply snuggling into his side as she read her books, occasionally calling his attention to them when she felt him focusing inwards overly much. Finally there came the moment they were waiting for, as the Goblet of Fire was to choose the Champions for each school.

"Now that I think about it," Harry whispered to his bushy-haired girlfriend, "Halloween just isn't a good day for us."

Her eyebrow raised. "Us?" Hermione asked.

"Troll," Harry replied as he counted on his fingers, "Ron insulting you that day, that's first year. Second year was Nick's deathday party and the start of that whole Chamber business. Then last year, the big scare when Sirius tried to get into the Gryffindor Tower. Sure he was innocent, but that doesn't change the way everyone reacted at the time."

Hermione found herself nodding thoughtfully. "Wonder what's up this year?" she mused, and at that moment a chill ran up Harry's spine.

"Oh, no," he muttered, barely loud enough for her to hear, as his gaze snapped to the Goblet of Fire as it spat out the first name. "It couldn't be..."

Dumbledore had caught the fluttering slip of parchment at arm's length with seeker-like reflexes, barely slowed by age (Harry's eyes narrowed as he remembered the phrase 'youngest seeker in a century'). "The Champion for Durmstrang is... Viktor Krum." As the applause from swept the Hall, the young man in question, having received slaps on the back and encouragement from his companions and friends, including his Headmaster ("Well done, Viktor!") and his best friend Nikolai Karkaroff, stood and passed through the door to the next chamber.

Again, the fire sparked and spat, and another slip of parchment descended. Dumbledore's announcement met the silence of bated breath. "The Champion for Beauxbatons is... Fleur Delacour!" There was cheering and applause, but mostly from the boys in the hall, with a smattering from girls such as Hermione, as well as a handful of those from Beauxbatons and a surprising young woman in Durmstrang colours with purple hair.

As the Veela girl who'd asked for the Bouillabaisse stood and left the Hall, the Goblet spat out the third, and everyone believed, final name. "The Champion for Hogwarts is... Cedric Diggory!"No one heard the cries of Dismay from the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables, as the entire Hufflepuff contingent, along with a handful of Ravenclaws and a few Lions such as Harry and Hermione, burst into raucous applause and cheering. Admittedly those non-Hufflepuffs who were cheering him were mostly girls, and the newly nicknamed Hufflepuff Heart-throb' walked past the Ravenclaw table, pausing to whisper into the ear of one Cho Chang as he did, and followed the other Champions.

As the teachers turned to step back and away, the Goblet sparked and sizzled. When it spat out a _fourth_ slip of parchment, every one was so shocked that even Dumbledore almost missed catching it. Hands trembling, he read out the name on the parchment to the accompanying sound of someone head-butting a table.

"Harry Potter..."


	4. Chapter 4

**On Crimson Wings.**

**Part 1 of The Heart of the Dragon.**

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Harry Potter, the world or the characters. They belong to J. , with gratitude for letting us play with them. The challenge comes from GoldenSteel, with gratitude for the ideas. The only thing I could lay claim to are the story and plotline, but that just seems greedy..._

**Chapter 4: Legally, Magically Binding.**

Harry raised his head from the table where he'd dropped it. His girlfriend was rubbing his back as he did so, saying something to him, but with the blood rushing through his ears, he couldn't make out a word of it. _He_ knew he hadn't put his name in the Goblet of Fire, and Hermione's look of worry told him she didn't believe he had either. As his awareness began to return, as his hearing gradually became clearer, he cast his gaze around the Great Hall.

Everywhere he looked, he could pick out disbelief and anger, outright hatred in some cases, such as Draco Malfoy, but it was those that should have known better that hurt the most, a pain that went clear to the bone. Ron. His face was filled with jealousy and rage that promised a painful reckoning before he schooled his features into a mask of support. Ginny. Her eyes were vapid, empty of any logical thought, even for the magical world, and brimming over with all the symptoms of hero-worship and obsession. Fred and George. Envious glee, wishing it had been them, but proud of him for doing it, even though he hadn't. The list grew, and included several of the teachers. Trelawney was getting in on the ground floor, as it were, and predicting his doom in any one of a multitude of fashions, each more painful and terrifying than the last, although her final prediction almost had him laughing out loud, which might have seemed a little insane.

"Mark my words," the Divination professor stated with ironclad confidence, "before you know it, he'll be abducted by..." here she looked around in fear and hissed/whispered the last word, "_dentists!_" Snape shuddered, but nothing stopped him glaring at Harry. It made the fourteen-year-old wizard quite glad that the Potions Master wasn't, for example, a basilisk...

"It wasn't me." The soft, angry voice cut through all the speculation and hubbub in the Great Hall even before Harry realized he'd spoken aloud. Looking squarely at Professor Dumbledore's beard, he spoke again, louder. "I swear to you all, I didn't want this."

Here and there throughout the Hall, Harry and Hermione could spot those who believed him. At the Ravenclaw table, a girl with blonde hair and a dreamy expression nodded. Two girls at the Hufflepuff table had a hurried and whispered discussion before they nodded to Hermione, and a girl with tresses as raven as his own at the Slytherin table glanced at her chestnut-haired sister among those the year below before they nodded once, quickly, before the other Snakes could notice. Another glance travelled across the Hall from the Ravenclaw table to the Gryffindor table as the dusky-skinned twins, separated by House, also agreed and nodded. Alas, his supporters were by far a minority.

As Harry disappeared through the door to the next chamber, Hermione slipped quietly from the Hall, and ran for the library, praying her boyfriend had heard her hissed instructions: "Don't agree to anything until we know more."

* * *

Harry had felt a little out of place as he entered the other chamber, and spotted both Cedric and Krum glaring at each other as Fleur glanced around the room. They had glanced at him and then dismissed him as inconsequential, although the Veela girl had asked if they were wanted back out in the Great Hall, although as he stuttered and mumbled his explanation, trying hard to contain the anger and hurt he'd felt out there, she lost interest in him. At a guess, it was because she thought him as susceptible to that Allure thing Hermione had told him about. Harry felt a flash of sympathy for the French witch. He could relate to being treated as a 'what' instead of a 'who', especially recently.

Bagman's announcement of his status as the 'Fourth TriWizard Champion' really put the cat among the pigeons, though, and Fleur's 'little boy' comment was a last straw of sorts.

"As I said out in the Hall," his voice cut through the commotion like a finely honed knife, "I didn't ask for, nor do I want, any of this." At the looks of disbelief and Professor Snape's sneer (not that _that_ was anything new), Harry's temper rose, bringing his voice with it. "Why in the name of Merlin would I?"

"To give your school two chances, of course," Karkaroff growled, backed up by Snape's muttered chorus of 'arrogant, attention-seeking brat'. "Do you expect us to believe you do not want the immortal fame and glory of this Tournament? That you do not want the thousand Galleons prize?"

"A thousand?" Harry scoffed. "I have more than that as monthly interest for my vault at Gringotts." True, he didn't know that for certain, but he'd seen the inside of the vault, and even a low estimate told him it held at least a hundred times the Tournament's prize, so even a one-percent interest rate (and he doubted the Goblins offered terms that low) would make him an honest wizard. "As for this 'glory', who am I?" He held up his hair to brandish his scar at them. He didn't really need them to answer, so he ran right over the top of any reply. "Now tell me the names of the last winner of this death-trap. Heck, I'll settle for the names of the last _Champions_, any of them." Into the hushed silence, he spoke clearly, if quietly. "I did not do this, I did not cause this to be done and I want no part of this."

He could _see_ Snape open his mouth and braced himself for the usual spray of bile and spite, when Dumbledore spoke up, and the 'greasy dungeon-bat', as some of the braver students referred to the Potions Master, seethed in silence.

"That's impossible I'm afraid, Harry," the old wizard said. "The Goblet of Fire constitutes a binding magical contract. You must compete, or you forfeit your magic. I've looked over the rules and requirements for this, in all three of the relevant capacities I hold, and you cannot stand back. Like it or not, as Chief Warlock, Headmaster and magical guardian, if in _loco parentis_, you have to compete."

The young wizard had been aware of a sense of gathering power, of magic lying in wait, of eldritch energy hovering in expectation. It had been vague, slowly building as he spoke, held back from him by something, and something fragile and tenuous at best. With Dumbledore's words, however, the dam holding it all back didn't just break... it shattered, and added its own power and potential to the energy that then cascaded down on the boy. Even as Harry collapsed screaming, he was aware of two very distinct and seemingly unrelated things.

The first was a distant explosion, which had Dumbledore wincing from magical backlash as the charms and spells sustaining the wards at Privet Drive and the monitoring devices in the Headmasters office lost cohesion and sought the easiest way out. The resultant detonation of the devices showered that office with very expensive magical shrapnel.

Second, and more important to the fate of magical Britain, was the influx of power hammered into his scar, tearing loose a fragment of essence foreign to him, an invading parasite that most certainly _didn't_ belong, and scourging it into nothingness, even as shadowy chains that held him back were rendered as effective a restraint as wet noodles...

* * *

Hermione Granger would easily have been Irma Pince's favourite student were it not for one thing. The girl was quiet, respectful of books and very studious. She got nearly as annoyed as Irma herself did at the abuse some people put books through, although to be fair, even the stern librarian had been hard put _not_ to smile when she and her friends had happily set fire to their copies of the collected works of Gilderoy Lockhart. It still amused the witch to remember the looks on the faces of the bushy-haired girl and her raven-haired friend when she came across their impromptu bonfire out on the grounds. With a stern look in her eye, she could see the children frozen in fear, unable to move or speak as the librarian approached at speed and made out the titles of the books in the blaze. Their expression as she summoned her own copies shifted to a slack-jawed gape when she, the Terror of the Overdue Book, the Wrath of the Defaced, merely said "Best use I've ever seen for them. Twenty points to Gryffindor." and threw her own copies on the flames before primly bustling off. No, the only reason she didn't think of the brunette Gryffindor as her favourite was due to her companions. One of them, actually, that Potter lad wasn't too bad as children went. But that Weasley boy... she shuddered as she recalled the blasé and somewhat cavalier attitude the... _monster..._ had towards her beloved charges. Why, she'd seen him wipe grease off his fingers onto his _textbook_!

The Halloween feast was one of three times in the year that the library-witch would leave her sanctum, and she had seen the whole thing playing out. She had seen the young witch slip out of the Hall and followed, wondering why she would leave her boyfriend at a time when he would certainly need her. The girl's muttered rambling as she scoured the shelves for all the information they held on magical contracts, the TriWizard Tournament and (from what Hermione muttered, just to be safe) rituals and spells to help Harry survive the Tournaments traditional challenges if she _couldn't _get him out of this mess. Miss Pince watched for a while, and whispered to the empty air. "House Elf, please."

The House Elf who appeared had a tea cosy for a hat, and various mismatched articles for clothes. The mismatched socks on his feet made her smile, as did the respect these creatures gave her rule of no excess noise in the library. The apparation had been perfectly silent. "Ah, Dobby," she said. "If you would be so kind, could you keep an eye on Miss Granger and help her if she needs it? Thank you." Dobby's nodding was furious enough that it was a wonder his head didn't fly away.

As Hermione absently tucked a scroll into her robes, one she'd copied from a tome of rituals she'd never come across before, she read from a separate book detailing the binding of a magical contract with an age line, and a huge grin spread across her face. "Yes!" she cried, hastily stuffing a hand in her mouth as she recalled her whereabouts. Her thoughts continued apace as she re-read the passage. "_In the event of a magical and binding contract being enforced upon an under-age wizard or witch in the presence of an age-restrictive ward, all effects of said contract are held in abeyance until such time as the magical guardian of said wizard or witch can either confirm or countermand said contract." _The language was a bit stuffy, but unless Sirius Black, Harry's guardian, agreed with or denied it, even the Goblet couldn't make Harry compete.

If Hermione had had the time to read the next passage, she might not have been as jubilant. "_Should the Chief Warlock so decree, under such conditions as _loco parentis _or _habeas corpus_, the custodial and temporary guardianship for the Headmaster of a school, the Healer of Cause or the appointed Warden of the moment shall have sufficient authority to deny or confirm such contracts._" Alas, before she could begin reading, there was a distant explosion, and a cry of pain she was sadly all too-familiar with. Harry needed her!

As she ran from the library, Miss Pince noted down the book she'd just borrowed (through neglecting to put it down when she took off) and tidied up behind her.

* * *

Harry looked up at the very familiar ceiling, a warm weight covered in bushy brown hair holding down his arm. Unlike so many times before, he felt healthier than before the incident that had landed him here in the hospital wing, and stronger, too. He could feel his magic flowing through him, a vast and coursing torrent of it, compared to the bare trickle he'd always felt before. His eyesight had gotten better, too, as if something had been feeding off the magical flow that he produced from his core and weakened his body and eyes.

As he lowered his gaze towards his girlfriend, he spotted a glint of metal, a brass plate, on the head of his bed. He was certain it was his bed, as the Gothic lettering inscribed in the plate proclaimed it to be so. "**This bed is henceforth reserved for the use of Harry James Potter for so long as he remains at Hogwarts**." Madam Pomfrey had finally followed through on her oft-repeated threat to put his name on the bed and keep it ready for him.

As he struggled to sit up without waking Hermione, he dislodged a book that had been leaning against his ribs. Glancing at the title (Bindings Moste Magical, apparently by the same author as Potions Moste Potent), he opened it to the bookmarked page and began to read.

Hermione was roused from her sleep by the soft, yet nonetheless venom-filled cursing of her boyfriend. It had interrupted a dream she'd been having of the two of them alone in the hospital wing, with the doors sealed and no-one else around... Now the mood that her active imagination had set up was ruined.

"Harry," she grumbled sleepily as she scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand, "what on Earth is wrong? I found the way out of the tournament. We just have to get Sirius to deny the contract..." Her voice trailed off as the green-eyed wizard handed her the book.

"I thought so, too, Mai, my love," he whispered, not from a need to be quiet so much as to hold his own anger in check. If he raised his voice any louder than a whisper, he was certain he'd be loud enough for her parents to hear him in London. "Then I read the next paragraph, so I read the next page. Professor Dumbledore said, in his roles as Chief Warlock, Headmaster of Hogwarts and magical guardian in _loco parentis_ that I had to compete, which invoked the contract. The only upside to it _I_ can see is that by doing so, he pretty much declared me an adult, so I'm not going back to the Dursleys' ever again. If he wants to overthrow it just to get me back there, he'd have to basically destroy the entire Ministry's power base. They wouldn't sit still for that." He shrugged. "Of course, I have to survive till Summer to get the benefit, so..." Soft as it was, when his voice trailed off, the silence almost screamed at them.

As Hermione stared at his face, she finally put her finger on what had been nagging at her since she'd first seen him. His glasses! He wasn't wearing them, yet he could apparently see just fine. He explained what had happened in the chamber behind the Great Hall, and how he'd felt upon waking. She told him how she normally hated nicknames, but him calling her 'Mai' felt right. She held him close when he told her how having the solution he'd found snatched away by the very next paragraph felt, then he'd held her every bit as close as she tearfully apologized for not reading far enough before chasing after him. Then they just held each other for a long while. Not kissing, not groping, just holding each other for the sake of being held, understanding that was all the other wanted, no, needed, at that moment.

* * *

It was quite some time later that Harry noticed the scrolled parchment in her robe's inner pocket. "What's that one about?" he asked her, his curiosity raising its head. Hermione pulled it from her pocket and unrolled it.

"I'm not sure," she remarked absently as she focused on it. "I was sort of on autopilot when I copied it, most of my attention was on the bindings stuff. I _think_ it has something to do with a strengthening ritual, but..." She went pale. "Oh, my... That's just... No, this is way too dangerous." Looking up at Harry, she spoke quietly. " The Rite of Duo Corda Sicut Unum. Two hearts as One."

The two of them looked at the parchment, which laid out an exacting and highly dangerous piece of ritual magic. The whole purpose of the ritual's circle was to keep the participants _alive_ long enough to conclude the rite. Considering the ritual called for the participants to literally and magically _cut out half their heart_, and _then_ give it to the other participant to bind them together for life would have been enough to have the Ministry declaring the whole thing Dark. It was easy to see how such a rite could be abused. Of course, by the very nature of it, the rite could only be performed once, ever, by any one person. The timing of the rite was an incredibly tiny window, during which the 'gifting' had to take place, and the incantation had to be spoken, in _harmony_ no less. The benefits were there, but the whole thing was far too risky for even the TriWizard Tournament, or anything less than life-or-death.

Putting the scroll back into her robe, Hermione cried quietly into Harry's shoulder. She had no idea how to help him, but she would. She swore it, quietly and to herself as she took comfort in his embrace. They _would_ get through this.


	5. Chapter 5

**On Crimson Wings.**

**Part 1 of The Heart of the Dragon.**

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Harry Potter, the world or the characters. They belong to J. , with gratitude for letting us play with them. The challenge comes from GoldenSteel, with gratitude for the ideas. The only thing I could lay claim to are the story and plotline, but that just seems greedy..._

**Chapter 5: A Countdown of Confrontation.**

As Harry and Hermione stepped through the portrait hole, sudden silence gripped the Gryffindor Common Room. Through the silence, a distinct voice could be heard. A voice belonging to someone they had called friend.

"Obviously, she figured it out for him, so she could hang off him for some second-hand fame. After all this time his grades improve? Yeah, right. She's doing the work for him, mark my words. Mind you, wish I'd thought of it first, I mean a practice girlfriend who does your homework? Of course I'd go for that." Ron apparently had no idea of when to shut up. For someone who'd been riding that chess game since first year as a 'master strategist', he really had _no_ situational awareness whatsoever. Although Katie Bell had been glaring at him since he'd started spouting his vitriol, the comment about a practice girlfriend had every girl in Gryffindor trying to become basilisks as far as he was concerned. Not out of any fellowship with Hermione, or even anything to do with Harry, but because that kind of thick-headedness was _not_ an attractive trait...

Finally noticing the silence, Ron looked around and rose to his feet. His jealousy was obvious, but Harry didn't care. He'd been bad-mouthing Harry, but the raven-haired wizard could deal with it. When he did the same to _Hermione_, though...

"Harry, mate," the redheaded menace attempted to project an air of camaraderie, but only succeed at an air of foolishness. "So, how'd you do it? And why couldn't you two tell me? You know, give us a fair chance and all."

Harry's voice froze Ron in his tracks. "We didn't, Weasley." The lack of the ginger's first name was a bad sign that everyone could see... except Ron, but even he vaguely sensed something was wrong. He hadn't even glanced at the bushy haired witch, or he might have noticed her fists clenched hard enough to whiten the knuckles, her face down, hiding her features in a curtain of hair, the book she'd been carrying lying open on the floor where she'd... dropped... it... "_Oh shite,_" he thought, finally noticing what most Gryffindors would have called a sign of an impending apocalypse.

"You want a fair chance, Weasley?" Hermione growled. "Harry, he has to the count of three to apologize for everything, to both of us. That sounds fair, doesn't it? And to be sure it's fair," she continued, talking at Ron now, "Harry can start the count."

As Ron opened his mouth, Harry read the look on his face. He wasn't apologizing, he was going to insult and taunt, so Harry counted over the top of him. "Three."

There was a moment of absolute stillness, and then Ron was sailing across the Common Room with a horrid crunch, as Hermione glanced at her fist. That hadn't hurt at all. The crack as Ron tried to catch himself and failed, breaking his left wrist doing so, sounded clearly. Well, it hadn't hurt _her_ at all. Even Harry was a little surprised. While Ron passed out from the pain in his dislocated jaw and broken wrist, a small part of her mind wondered what was coming over her. She wasn't usually this violent, that incident involving Malfoy's nose aside. Harry quickly schooled his face to indifference, and the two of them sat on a small couch facing the portrait hole.

"Someone should probably take him to Madam Pomfrey," Harry mentioned to no-one in particular. He'd had it up to _there_ with being someone else's chess piece. Time to introduce them to a _real_ wargame. "No rush."

* * *

Ron had been hauled off to the hospital wing by the twins quite a while ago, and Harry and Hermione were not surprised when an irate Professor McGonagall came in through the portrait. They put aside the Arithmancy texts they'd been studying, first marking their places carefully, and turned to face the teacher, who was near spluttering in her fury.

Her Scots accent almost indecipherably thick, the Transfiguration professor and Deputy Headmistress paced for a few minutes, cursing comprehensively under her breath before she was calm enough to speak. "Mr Potter, I have just come from the hospital wing where Ronald Weasley is _still_ receiving treatment for his injuries. He places the blame for this incident, and the flim-flammery that got you into the Tournament, squarely at your feet."

Harry sighed and glanced at Hermione. She took the shrunken tome of contract law from her robe and enlarged it, handing the weighty book over to the pacing professor. McGonagall opened the book and read... and snarled. "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore!" she hissed, and Harry winced. The only time he'd _ever_ heard someone's full name was if they were in trouble, and the person doing the naming was usually a woman...

The aged witch continued to rant and hiss in the thick Scots accent. "Och, I hoots tha noo, tha scurvy wee sassenach, tha skiving load o' blethers..." It went on for quite some time, and the couple before her settled back into their couch and snuggled together, watching the show.

Minerva McGonagall had attracted a fair audience before she remembered where she was, and turned to her students. "Mr Potter, it would seem I owe ye an apology or two. For believing Mr Weasley's dire accusations, an' for believing you'd stoop so low as to cheat your way into the Tournament, I'm sorry," she said, in a low voice. "I'm also sorry I believed Professor Dumbledore when he said he'd tried and failed to get you out of it, when it's painfully obvious that he had to be the one pushing it through." Her very stance was one of shame at her own and her superior's actions and inactions... She was starting to remember several incidents over the previous few years that were once more coming to light: Detention in the Forbidden Forest, the Philosopher's Stone fiasco, the whole traps and a Cerberus in the school... the list went on, each accompanied by the dreamy, deja vu feeling that marked a broken Obliviation. Oh, Albus had a lot to answer for...

Her train of thought was interrupted by her star student. "Professor, if Harry's stuck with being in this tournament, he's going to need just as much access as the other Champions," Hermione said reasonably, if a little coldly. Maybe she'd come around to their side, but the older witch hadn't believed Harry from the start. Hermione idly wondered where all these changes were coming from... "So we're going to need a pass for the restricted section, and somewhere to train."

McGonagall measured the pair in front of her. She lifted her wand and conjured two golden shield-shaped badges from her office. They were blank, but otherwise served the same purpose as the similar badges worn by the other Champions. "Mr Diggory's badge bears the Hogwarts crest, and Miss Delacour the Beauxbatons, with Mr Krum having a Durmstrang crest on his. Since you were entered under a fourth, and most likely fictitious school, you may wish to declare a group allegiance, Mr Potter?"

Harry looked at his girlfriend who shrugged, and seemed to lose herself in thought. Left to his own devices, Harry went with what he knew, and made it up as he went. "House Potter School for Sorcerous Studies," he announced, and his family crest, a golden griffon rampant on a crimson field, appeared on the badges. Seeing the crest, he was a little stunned. No-one had ever told _him_ that his family had a crest like that, with the crossed wand and sword above the rest. Aunt Petunia was mad for gossip, especially about the nobles and royals, so Harry had picked up enough dribs-and-drabs of heraldry to know that such a simple device implied a _really_ ancient family, through the firstborn line... Then he caught sight of the family motto, and his somewhat crazed laughter dragged Hermione from wherever her thoughts had led her.

_NOS NON FACIMUS NORMALIS. _He'd puzzled it out from the Latin they used to cast spells, and it fit. _We don't do normal._

* * *

They chose to wear their badges inside their robe lapels, but that didn't make Hermione less nervous. She hadn't figured out why she was changing like this, not completely, but she had nailed down the time it began. On the train, when Harry'd asked her to be his, and offered to be hers... and that was the important word, wasn't it? _Hers_. In every instance of anger, it had been because something had been said or done that involved _Harry_, not herself. There was nothing else she seemed to prize so highly. Even the 'higher authority' of the professors took second place to _her_ Harry. The really strange thing was her certainty that this was _right_, that there was no other way she was supposed to be. There was no little voice telling her this, which was the first symptom of potions or the Imperius curse, there was just a... a... a _burning_ instinct, a drive to protect and... claim him...

The two of them sat in their Potions class as Snape tried to find ways to punish them. Harry'd sent an owl to talk to let Sirius know what was going on, and the two had discussed the people who believed him. While Harry had been having breakfast, there were lots of people who came up and congratulated him for getting in... none of them Gryffindors. This was mostly due to Hermione punching Ron across the common room. There was a big difference between bravery and stupidity. The side effect was that Ron's jaw was still quite tender, and Madam Pomfrey had threatened _not_ to set it again if he popped the joint again with his eating habits. Ron was forced to eat smaller bites, which had all the students who had to sit near him silently thanking her.

They'd also been quietly approached by the girls who'd nodded the previous night. The soft "I believe you" from each was heartening. The only ones who didn't come over to show their support were the two sisters from Slytherin. At least the Golden Couple (Trio no longer, the whole school had heard of Ron's 'ejection' from their company) had names to put to the faces now.

Herbology had been a bust, what with being ignored by almost everyone. Hannah and Susan had been confronted by Ernie MacMillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley afterwards for 'betraying' the House, to the accompaniment of rolled eyes.

"And how, Ernie," Susan had retorted, "is believing Harry _didn't_ enter himself in the tournament being disloyal? He didn't _want_ to take anything from Cedric, he was forced to be in this. Did you know that Hermione found a law that would have allowed him to withdraw? But our Headmaster, knowingly or not, closed that door for him. Why would she be looking for that law if he wanted to be in the tournament?"

Ernie's response was... ill thought out. "So maybe he didn't tell her..." He was cut off by Hannah's snort of laughter. _Hannah's!_ The quiet, unassuming Hannah Abbot!

"We are thinking of the same Gryffindor, right? Hermione Granger, top of our year, the brightest witch of her age? The one person who probably knows Harry better than anyone? Like Harry'd _not_ tell her..." Her words struck a chord, and she went on. "We still hope that Cedric wins, Ernie. We just don't think Harry wanted this."

That had caused a lot of thought, and not just among her own House. And now here stood Snape, after a stressful Care of Magical Creatures lesson where a much depleted population of blast-ended skrewts were taken for walks... Hagrid had found their favourite food at last, it was just a pity that was blast-ended skrewt... Harry was a bit slow to set up, and the greasy professor drew breath to berate him, probably to take points, when Harry was rescued by a most unlikely saviour.

"Excuse me, Professor Snape," said Colin Creevey from the doorway, "they're asking for harry for the Weighing of the Wands, sir."

"Very well, Potter," Snape sneered, causing Harry to wonder if the man's face had some other expression. "Leave your things and you can catch up when you get back..."

"I'm sorry, sir," Colin interrupted, "but Professor Dumbledore said something about a reporter, and interviews and photographs. He's to take his things." He handed over a note in a trembling hand.

"More special treatment, eh, Potter? Very well, we mustn't keep the... celebrity..." Harry hadn't thought it was possible but Snape's sneer became even more pronounced. As he left, he pressed one hand to Hermione's shoulder as she trembled in anger, shocking her into looking at him.

"Could you make a copy of notes for me, please?" he asked, hoping that a task would keep her from blowing up at a teacher like she did at Ron.

* * *

He was heading in the direction of the Headmaster's office when the eagle found him. It was massive Black Eagle, with a harness bearing the Gringotts emblem on its torso, and a satchel hung from the clips on the harness. It was Harry's first encounter with such a bird, and he was understandably cautious as he lifted the flap on the satchel to retrieve the letter and small package therein. After breaking the seal, he started reading.

_To Harry James Potter of House Potter, Greetings._

_We of Gringotts extend our felicitations and congratulations in acknowledgement of you attaining majority, and request an audience at your earliest convenience to discuss the matters of you House and Estate. At the very least, should you wish it, we ask that you consider taking up your Lordship of House Potter, and to that end the accompanying box holds your House's Head signet in addition to the timed portkey that can bring you to the bank on Friday, at around four of the clock in the afternoon. Should this time be inconvenient, or should you decline to ascend to your birthright, simply return the box and its content before that time and day._

_Manager Fangblade, Gringotts-appointed Manager for the Potter Vaults._

To say Harry was shocked by what he'd discovered in that one missive (far more about his family than he'd ever been _told_) would have been a vast understatement. He looked up at the eagle and managed a mumbled "Thank you", after which the imperious bird departed without a sound beyond the beating of its wings, as if it didn't wish to announce its presence. Harry stared after it for a few seconds, before continuing to where the Weighing ceremony was to occur.

"We Don't Do Normal, indeed," he muttered as he began to jog, the letter deep in his robes, and the box it came with forgotten for now...

* * *

Hermione smiled at the note in her hand. Daphne Greengrass had managed to sneak it into the Gryffindor witch's book during class, as without Harry there, the two were partnered by Snape. The black-haired Slytherin's usual partner, Blaise Zabini, had failed to show, and was in the hospital wing, although no-one was told why... Still, the note reported that harry had no fewer than _five_ allies in the House of Cunning, although Daphne wouldn't name them in a note like this. Hermione suspected one of those supporters to be Astoria, the younger Greengrass sister here at Hogwarts, and another to be the absentee Blaise, but had nothing more than suspicion to go on. Unlike Draco, these Slytherins were exercising true cunning. According to the note, the Malfoy scion was trying to convince everyone to wear some insulting magical button-badges, but then Pansy Parkinson (serving much the same role in Slytherin as Lavender did in Gryffindor) brought up what had happened to Weasley, so _that _scheme had gone away, although they were certain he still had a plan.

* * *

Harry was livid. The horrible, bottle-blonde woman who said she was a reporter had just grabbed him, dragged him into the cupboard, and started firing questions at him to keep him from noticing that what her quill was writing was _not what he was saying._ That had failed, and Harry's temper exploded. He'd not lost his temper since that night, when he'd been shanghaied into this deathtrap they called a tournament. Not really lost it, although he'd certainly been angry more than once. Not until now.

As the others in the old classroom waited for the officials or their turn with the reporter, the door to the closet was driven off its hinges by the flying form of Rita Skeeter, who flew across the room as an enraged Harry emerged from its depths (more shallows, really, it wasn't _that_ big a closet), flicking a quick "Incendio" at the Quill and notebook, which the resulting basketball-sized globe of fire swiftly reduced to ash. In a tightly controlled voice, Harry spoke, spitting out the words in the harshest tone he was capable of.

"If I ever find myself, my girlfriend, her family, my family, our friends or even our casual acquaintances mentioned in your articles, especially if they're full of lies, I will end your entire newspaper. If you can honestly call it news. Seems more like government sponsored gossip to me." At the flash of Skeeter's photographer taking a picture, the young wizard lashed out. He hadn't gotten this spell down completely, he tended to overpower it, but he was too angry to care. "_Expelliarmus!_" The overpowered disarming spell dragged the camera from the man's hands while flinging him across the room to land on the 'reporter', who was just struggling to her feet. The Ministry officials and the Headmasters had just arrived in time to witness this, not that anyone was thinking of doing anything to attract the angry young wizard's attention. His magic had... melded with his anger, and Harry was giving off a visible aurora of sorcerous energy, with wisps of smoke trailing from his wand. Catching sight of the others in the room, the incarnation of rage that he was... blushed sheepishly, and stuck his wand behind his back. "Sorry, I think I may have lost my temper there."

Fleur squealed in fright, and unleashed her Allure at the fullest strength she could force it to, which reaction had Madame Maxime beside her in a trice, and left only three of the males in the room functional for anything more complex than drooling. Mad-eye Moody, Albus Dumbledore, and a confused and concerned Harry Potter.

* * *

"... and _that's _when she starts to stammer out an apology, to me, instead of everyone she'd just turned to drooling idiots, as if she's scared of me. I just couldn't understand it," Harry finished telling his girlfriend. The events of the previous day had been wearing, so they'd both gone to bed with little more than a quick peck on the lips. Meeting up in the common room before breakfast, they'd brought each other up to speed on what had happened the previous day, and Hermione, although mildly concerned about the impact Harry's little explosion would have on his life at Hogwarts, but otherwise felt it was a good thing to mark domain... "_Wait, did I just think that? Marking domain? What's going on? Why am I doing this?_" Her thoughts were a tangled mess today, last night she'd dreamed of flying with harry, without a broom, and loved the sensation of it. Yet she couldn't stand heights. She'd written a letter home to ask her mum what was going on, and they'd gone up to the Owlery before breakfast so Hedwig could take it for her. At the same time, they received a letter from Sirius, saying he was on his way, and would get in touch once he was better able to help.

The day was less eventful than most, especially for Harry. There was no Potions class today, and Hermione was somehow able to get the skrewts in Care to heed her, although not even she was sure how. Bit by bit, the day passed. Near sunset, another student had delivered a note from Hagrid inviting Harry to meet him at his hut late that night, and to bring his cloak.

* * *

Snape was feeling out of sorts. He'd finally managed to sort out who the young wyrms among the visiting schools were, all four of them, two to a school, and to figure out what they were too. Not one of them the same, if you lined them all up with himself and that Welsh Red youngling he _still_ hadn't found yet, the only Great Dragon missing would be that Elwah Brown, the one that looked like an owl, to a degree, and the Icelandic white (which was good because he loathed the cold).

Durmstrang was rather easy to investigate. The Headmaster's own nephew was a Crimean Black, the fastest wyrm in flight, but it sacrificed the fiery breath most Dragons had to do so, and was only a little larger than Snape's own form. Nikolai Karkaroff was looking for a mate.

The second Great Dragon in the Durmstrang contingent wasn't. Nor was she seeking domain, apparently. Brynhild Eisenheim, a Scandinavian Blue, was keeping an eye on the tournament for some reason, but no-one he had access to could tell him why. When he'd asked Igor why the man had brought along a spy, the man had answered Snape while glaring at him. "Three rules have I followed, Severus. Three rules and a guideline. The rules are: Always keep your wand handy, Know when you're out of your depth, and never, ever deal with a dragon. The guideline is much simpler. Meddle not in the affairs of Dragons, for thou art crunchy and good with ketchup."

It was a little trickier narrowing down who the wyrms from Beauxbatons were, but he managed it. Isabeau duMortier was an Acadian Green, and smelled of deep forests, while her friend Huang Shen Jin was a Chinese Gold, and smelled of pure rain and lightning. Snape shuddered to think of it. All of them were bigger than he in Dragon form, even half-grown as they were, with the exception of Nikolai. He might have the edge magically, due to his experience, but unlike him, they could breathe or spit fire, or lightning in the case of the Gold.

And just when he'd sorted out there scents, and could get down to figuring out who this Welsh Red was, and eliminating her. He'd noticed that in her scent, eventually. Greys didn't rely on their sense of smell very often, and for good reason. It was a little sharper than a human's, but not as sharp as a dog's, for instance. And then the creatures for the First Task arrived, and scrambled his sinuses again. Four lesser dragons, drakes as they should be termed, pitiful cousins who had no hope against their Greater kin...

The smell of Hungarian Horntail hit him, as did the fact it and the other three were nesting mothers. Well, at least Potter would be dead soon, even if he did have to delay hunting that Red until this task was done. The Welsh Greens smelled too similar to the Reds for him to tell apart, and with their scent wafting through the castle, he'd never find her...

* * *

Hermione felt comforted for some reason, as though her mother was nearby...

* * *

Harry's return to the common room, was noted by everyone present, as he stormed over to his girlfriend and threw himself beside her on the couch. As she embraced the upset wizard, he whispered to her. It's dragons Hermione. The first task has us taking something from dragons..."


	6. Chapter 6

**On Crimson Wings.**

**Part 1 of The Heart of the Dragon.**

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Harry Potter, the world or the characters. They belong to J. , with gratitude for letting us play with them. The challenge comes from GoldenSteel, with gratitude for the ideas. The only thing I could lay claim to are the story and plotline, but that just seems greedy..._

**Chapter 6: Learning of Legacies.**

As Hedwig flew south at her best speed, Harry was sitting in Gringotts, in the antechamber for Fangblade's office. After letting his girlfriend know where he was going, and letting her begin in-depth research on dragons while he was gone, he'd left a message for Cedric with Susan and Hannah. The latter had struck up quite the friendship with Neville Longbottom in Herbology, where they duked it out for first place, with Hermione consistently in third (she wasn't good with the practical side) and Harry at fourth (he _was_ decent at the practical, but keeping up with which plant was which challenged him).

He'd managed to convince Professor McGonagall to allow this trip via Floo from her office, and had arrived earlier, turning in the Portkey and telling the goblin teller of his appointment. The box containing his signet ring was firmly ensconced in the mokeskin pouch Hagrid had given him. When the goblin had asked in clipped terms if Harry wished him to inform Fangblade of his presence, Harry's answer had taken him aback.

"Goodness, no, not if he's busy," the raven-haired wizard said. "I came here early because it's a little more time out of the atmosphere at Hogwarts. I certainly didn't mean to disrupt his time. If I could trouble you for something to read, I'm more than happy to wait." He didn't realise how much he impressed the goblins with those words until much later.

So here he sat, with the Daily Prophet before him. He was amazed he was taking it so well. If he'd been anywhere else (except probably the library), he was sure he'd have blown his top. The headline was bad news, he knew. The Goblin who'd brought him the paper (no-one else in the waiting room received one, for some reason) had said the cost of the paper was already dealt with, and that he could keep it. Most likely because they expected him to destroy it.

**Is This Your Champion?** competed for space with **Illegal Entrant Threatens Reporter! **and **Potter's Potions Problem?** on the front page. Harry saw this as evidence that magic was not limitless, and the editor of the Prophet must hate that he could only have _one_ front page. He glanced at the Reporter's name. Tari Keretes. Of course, ever since the Chamber of Secrets, he was on the lookout for anagrams. Voldemort's own name was one, then there were several bad stories about villains hiding their names that way, such as Dracula becoming Alucard... What was it with Magical Britain? Were they _all _so simple that you could fool them by shuffling around the letters of your name? You'd think that'd be the first thing they looked for after it was done _once_, but then, as Hermione said, some of the greatest wizards didn't have an ounce of logic.

"Excuse me, Mister Potter," the goblin at the door said. He looked like the one who'd brought Harry to the waiting room, but it was difficult to tell... there! Those scars on the top of his head told Harry this was indeed Heartfinder, who'd received the name in his coming of age battle, while his opponent cut his scalp. Heartfinder's blade was unavailable to block, as it was looking for (and finding) the other warrior's heart. "Manager Fangblade will see you now."

The goblin behind the desk was even more scarred than Heartfinder. As Harry entered, the goblin stood and greeted him... not warmly, but with a brisk and business-like efficiency. "Welcome, Mister Potter," the Manager said. "Shall we get straight down to business, then?" At Harry's respectful nod, Fangblade almost smiled. Respect, this boy was going to spoil him for wizards... "Very well then. This meeting is to execute your parents' wills." Harry's gasp of surprise was expected. "Yes Mister Potter. They did leave wills, that we have been prevented from executing by your self-appointed magical guardian at the time, Albus Dumbledore. He told us it was to prevent certain people from benefiting from the betrayal of your parents' trust. A load of fewmets if you ask me."

"Fewmets?" Harry was taken off-guard by the unfamiliar word.

"Dragon's droppings. Once treated the dung becomes an excellent magical fertilizer, I'm told. This reading has been triggered by a crystal we linked to Dumbledore's guardianship of you, knowing that he would only end it when you were of age. To be perfectly frank, we didn't expect to be doing this for another few years. Could you tell me exactly what has happened?"

"If it furthers your understanding, I guess I can do that," Harry replied, and sketched out what had brought him to this point. Fangblade, who'd received the name for his unorthodox method of disarming his opponent by holding his arms in each hand and wresting the sword away with his teeth, asked for clarification on several points, which Harry elaborated on. After Harry was done, the goblin sat back and thought. "Mister Potter, it is my advice that you take up your Lordship immediately. Then you can confirm or deny each article of your parents' wills, and access your other vaults. We'll be able to shut down your trust vault and return the contents to the main vault, as your former guardian has access to that. But simply put, you will, allowing for the majority of the bequests to be confirmed, inherit all four vaults in the Potter name." At Harry's open-mouthed expression, the goblin smirked. "The main vault is the House vault, and holds the greater share of money and valuables. Then there is the house-keeping vault, which is maintained for expenditure by servants of the House, and is maintained as needed. The third is the Library vault. This one was to keep the books of the House safe from pilfering and poaching of the family's secrets and magic. Finally, there is the last vault, which the Potters, as allies to Gringotts, are maintaining in trust for a particular lineage for the past four hundred years. The ministry has declared... the line extinct, but we know otherwise. Should that line's heir enter the bank, it all gets turned over."

Harry thought for a few moments. When he'd spoken of the Lordship with Hermione, she'd suggested he get the best advice he could, and he thought there to be no better advisor in this matter than the very beings who maintained that money. "How do I do this, Manager Fangblade?"

"Simply put on the ring, Mister Potter. If you are the rightful heir, you will be able to. If not, the ring will be too small, no matter which finger you try. Then you declare your acceptance formally." Fangblade handed over a parchment with the acceptance oath written on it. "These are the words your grandfather used, and that your father planned to. Alas, his father outlived him, if only by two days. A tragedy."

Harry agreed absently, the word grandfather had stirred up a very vague image of an old man with scruffy black hair liberally strewn with grey, and if he tried to hold on to it, the memory slipped away faster. Sliding the House ring onto the middle finger of his right hand, he looked over the parchment, and made his oath.

"I, Harry James Potter, do accept this ring, and powers and duties that come with it. I pledge to those who came before me, to hold in trust for those who come after, that I shall stand for those who stand with and for me, to hold strong in the face of adversity, to bear the names of our forebears with honour. To give trust and honour where earned, to revile and rebuke those who would betray us, and to build on what has come to me, to leave a better world for those who will come after me. With this ring, I accept the seat, estate and title of House Potter, including those titles that have been merged therein, offering good faith, and bringing all relevant justice to bad faith. In my name, and the names of my ancestors, by magic and my will, so mote it be." There was a fundamental shift, there was no other word for it, in his very being. Deep within him, he felt another binding shatter. From what he could tell, there was just one more left... His body had been unbound when Dumbledore had forced him into the Tournament, and now... his mind was free of its binding. He felt like he could keep up with Hermione's mind now, maybe even challenge _her_ in some areas...Fangblade's face was arranged in an unfamiliar countenance. Most wizards never got to see a happy goblin... not for _long_ at any rate, and very few of those got to talk about it, ever. "Well said, Lord Potter. Now, as for that which you have just claimed," here he took a very, _very_ thick folder from a drawer behind him, with the Potter crest emblazoned on the front, "Let's begin. This shouldn't take more than an hour or so... Now your liquid funds, not counting capital investment, enjoined investment, estate maintenance and the fourth vault, is holding steady at 2.3 billion Galleons... at today's exchange that comes to... around ₤12.8 billion, rounded down to one place." Harry goggled at the amount on the sheet he was handed. His reaction was partly due to the fact he was a billionaire, and partly due to the fact that the goblin had just waved away _80 million_ as _rounding down_! He reached for the next sheet...

* * *

Hermione put aside the book in frustration. The four dragons Harry'd seen were all of different types, and they each had different strengths and tactics, and there simply wasn't time to practice all of the tactics for all of them. She wasn't even sure there was enough time to get ready for _one _of them. The older Champions already had a grounding in the basics they could build on, but without knowing which one Harry was going to face...

The young witch put her hand into her robe, and brought out the ritual she'd found back at the beginning of this mess. The preparations were easy enough, up to a point. The tricky thing was the timing and the placement. The ritual circle called for a space about twenty feet across, where they could see the unobstructed Western horizon. That meant the Astronomy Tower. Nowhere else fit the criteria... "_Hold on, Hermione,_" she thought, dragging her mind to a halt, "_why am I even considering this? It's dangerous, the slightest slip in the ritual could kill one or both of us, the most minor flaw in the runes means we'll die, and there's no real guarantee it'll work._" Her memory of Harry last night came to mind. He'd looked almost broken, although he acted as though he were stone sometimes. But in her reading, she'd discovered what happened to stone under stress when it succumbed... It shattered, beyond hope of repair.

"_So, is he _that_ important to me?_" she asked herself. "_If we do the ritual, we both might die... If we don't, and his luck runs true to form, and he gets the Horntail, he _will_ die._" She swallowed hard. If that happened, she'd die too, she was sure of it. She might continue to exist, but without Harry, it wouldn't be living, not really. "_So we do this._" With that resolved, she stood and left the library to make preparations. Maybe she could get some help from the others who believed Harry, but with the way the ritual was performed, there wasn't going to be an audience, and keyed notice-me-not charms took time.

* * *

Harry was a little gobsmacked at the pile if parchment in front of him. He'd known that something like this existed, it was why Pansy Parkinson was engaged to Draco. Betrothal contracts. The very thought of them was more than a little disturbing, and from what he saw, there were more than thirty offers. Fortunately, according to Griphook, no such contract was legally enforceable without the signature of the Head of the House, in blood. Although it looked like someone had tried. Sitting at the top of the pile was the most recent contract, bearing his name and that of Ginevra Molly Weasley, signed by her mother and his former magical guardian... Albus Dumbledore. It was obvious that whoever'd set this up didn't know that little loophole, or half the assets of the Potter vaults would have been syphoned off as a bride-price. _That_ disgusted Harry. Selling your daughter for a handful of Galleons (he paused as he remembered the Potter assets; that would need some _really_ big hands) was _not_ the act of a loving parent, in his opinion.

Fortunately for him, he was able to have them all turned down politely, declining without giving offense. The goblins were more than happy to handle the details... for a fee, of course.

"Finally, there are the titles. You are Lord Potter by birthright, and the Duke Slytherin by Right of Conquest..."

"Wait a second," Harry blurted out, startled at the announcement. "My apologies, but what does that mean? I really was the Heir of Slytherin two years ago?"

Fangblade looked at the documents before him. "According to these records, you were not the Heir by Conquest until May that year. The requirements of Conquest Succession are very exacting. First, you must have blood in common, in this case Peverell blood. The Potters descend from Ignotus Peverell, third son of Salazar Slytherin's only child... his daughter Niamh. The one called Voldemort claims to descend from the second son, Cadmus. That covers that prerequisite. Second, you must encounter them face to face no less than three times, and defeat them in all three. Third, in each encounter you must be in real danger, true mortal peril. Should these three conditions be met, and your foe have no appointed heir of his blood, then the claim by right of conquest be proven. Do you understand, Lord Potter?" When Harry nodded vaguely, making a mental note to tell _all_ of this to his girlfriend, the manager went on. "There are several books in Flourish and Blotts that cover the relevant etiquettes and protocols. We have taken the liberty of acquiring copies for you at minimal fees. I hope they can help you in many situations. For example, as we goblins are a separate nation, we do not have to term you 'Your Grace', but you can insist upon that title from any not of an Ancient and Noble House such as the Potters."

"And which names should I look out for then?" Harry asked, curious despite his current dislike of Magical society. Maybe he could find some allies in these Houses.

The goblin manager smirked. Harry realised that this was how he smiled, and by extension, most goblins. They only 'smiled' at wizards who were all Malfoy in their attitude. Considering that these 'smiles' were like looking at two rows of broken bottles, or possibly a shark's mouth (that actually made some sense, considering the interest rates he'd heard they gave on loans), Harry thought that there was an element of threat in it, a sort of 'I loathe you and would happily serve you on a spit for roasting' snarl. He was very glad they were actually smirking at him, although the selfsame wizards and witches they 'smiled' at would probably be insulted.

"That would be the Houses of Black, Bones, Greengrass and Lovegood. The latter has fallen into hard times indeed. The loss of the Lady of the House in 1990 was a cruel blow. The current Head never really recovered, although for his daughter, he tried. I believe the pressures of his duties as both a father and the Herald, combined with the loss of his true love have left him with a... tenuous grip on sanity, at best."

"What was that about a Herald?" Harry latched onto the archaic word. This was slowly coming together. "It sounded... important."

"And so we come to the third title that awaits you. In the days of Artur penDragon, there were thirteen magical families among his knights. Each had their own titles and duties passed down to them from that time, and carried out those duties well. Many of those Houses no longer exist. One such House was the Noble and Ancient House of Peldayne, who were cast from their status and stripped of their name and titles for acting against their duty as Seneschals, and acting in a weaselly manner. Now only five such Houses remain. The Herald, the Hunter, the Rogue, the Reeve and the Sage. Your title from this time is the Hunter, and the duty that comes to you is to interact with the magical creatures as needed to ensure the peace of magical Britain. Let me assure you, despite the Potters old reputation as dragon-hunters, they in no way went against their duty."

In the circumstances, Harry can be forgiven for leaping from his chair, much to the astonishment of Fangblade, and doing a little jig.

* * *

Hermione looked around at the ritual circle that the others had inscribed on top of the tower. It was just as the rite required, and merely awaited the blood of those it would sustain. Her allies had quickly split their tasks to help her help Harry, and she was glad of it. Luna Lovegood, with Katie Bell's assistance, had worked on the notice-me-not wards. Unless you were on this side of them, or directly keyed into them (Hermione had given her hairs from herself and Harry for this), you had a distressing tendency to forget there _was_ an Astronomy Tower. Susan Bones, Hannah Abbot and the Patil twins had, at Hermione's direction , helped her scribe the circle, getting it done in a fraction of the time. Daphne and Astoria Greengrass had limited options to help, but managed to instigate a... minor incident between Weasley and Malfoy that had both suitably distracted (and in Madam Pomfrey's capable hands for the evening).

"Thank you," she told the assembled girls, once they were all outside the wards again. "This may be the only way Harry stands a chance."

Padma looked Hermione in the eye. "I won't bring this up with the teachers Hermione," she said, in a firm, no-nonsense tone. "But I do have to say that some of that circle worries me. I couldn't recognise most of those runes and markings, but the circle seems to deal heavily with blood and life. That makes this thing at least border-line Dark. You had better not be about to sacrifice yourself for Harry. I could see you doing that, it's obvious how you feel about him, but it would devastate him, he wouldn't want to live. And I can safely say that neither Daphne nor I wants any of the top spots in class _that_ badly."

Hermione bit her lip, as she did when nervous. "It shouldn't come to that," she said. "It's risky yes, but... the First task involves taking... something, we don't know what, from a nesting mother dragon. There are four dragons, ranging from ten feet long, that's the Swedish Short-snout to twenty feet."

There were gasps from all the others except Luna. "That would be a Hungarian Horntail," that worthy maiden said. "They're also the most aggressive dragon listed in the modern books, and the only lesser dragon that could compete with the Greater Dragons. It's a pity that all the Greater Dragons vanished two hundred years ago, but the Ministry was after their hoards. They were even using Nifflers to find them."

The bushy-haired witch nodded, although hearing that the Great Dragons had vanished caused a pang inside her for some reason. "The Horntail they've brought is apparently the pride of the Romanian reserve, and they've spent the last month bringing the dragons..."

"Technically, it's drakes," piped Luna helpfully, " and the Greater dragons were called wyrms." That sparked something in Hermione's memory, but she _couldn't_ pursue it now.

"Thank you, Luna,...here to Hogwarts. You all _know_ what Harry's luck is like. I'd put Galleons on him getting the Horntail, except no-one would take me up on a sucker's bet. Except Ron Weasley." She paused as the others nodded in painful agreement. Returning her gaze to Padma (it was easy enough to tell _these_ twins apart, they were colour-coded. Although there was a rumour that they'd once switched places for an entire week last year... and _no-one noticed_) Hermione continued. "If we do this... we _might_ die. If we don't... he _will_ die... and I'll follow him."

Sombre silence hung about them like a cloak. It was Luna who broke it, unpredictably predictable. "I set some extra wards to keep away the Wrackspurts, and you don't have any mistletoe, so the Nargles are giving this place a miss. Good luck!" With that, the quirky blonde skipped her barefooted way to the Great Hall.

As the others stared after her, Hermione silently thanked the barefoot witch, although she wondered why she was barefoot. "Padma, can you..."

""...keep an eye out for her? Sure, Hermione," the Ravenclaw twin replied. "She's right though. Good luck. You _will_ tell us how well this works, right?" The others nodded, apparently refusing to believe in the possibility of failure. "We'll let Harry know where to find you." With that, they left, and Hermione went back through the wards.

* * *

Harry stepped from the fireplace in Professor McGonagall's office to find Katie Bell waiting for him with a message. "Hermione's on the Astronomy Tower, waiting for you. Don't hesitate, get right up there. I'll have Fred and George put those in your trunk for you." This last was directed at the two packages he'd brought with him. As he surrendered the packages, he asked why Hermione wanted him up there, other than the obvious reason that it was prime couples territory. Katie had just looked at him as she answered, struggling to keep tears back. "She said it's the only way."

It was a thoroughly confused Harry who reached the top of the Astronomy Tower, just as the sun began to sink. Hermione didn't give him a chance to speak or even breathe before she kissed him hard, with all the love she could muster. He saw the circle behind her and _knew_ what she was going to say. "So let's get it done then," he said, answering her unnecessary question. If his Hermione said it was the only way... it _would be done_.

The ritual's exacting requirements left them no time to talk. Nothing foreign to the ritual could be brought into the circle, so they went sky-clad. There was enough chill in the wind that embarrassment was not an issue. Goosebumps were. Shivering, they each applied a circle of strange runes ("Draconic," Hermione had told him) around their hearts. Taking up the goblin-silver blades the rite demanded, they stepped into the circle.

A quick slash, and their blood sealed the circle, locking its magic to them. They'd prepared just in time, as the full moon crested the horizon completely just as the first star emerged, before the sun had fully set... They both struck, driving their knives into the centre of the runes encircling their chests, even as they chanted in unison.

"_**Oh, Stars, and Moon, and Setting Sun,**_

_**One is Two, and Two are One,**_

_**Half my heart to make you whole,**_

_**Bound in Magic, Mind and Soul.**_"

The circle surged, blasting through the notice-me-not wards and alerting every magical within fifty miles of something _huge_ going on, and where. Aurora Sinistra gasped as she finally remembered where she was supposed to be teaching tonight's midnight class, and Severus Snape was driven to his knees, going extremely pale as he felt a _very_ familiar energy. The dragons in their pens woke up, and roared and spat flames, and their handlers weren't going to try to stop them. Besides, they seemed... joyous.

Harry and Hermione pushed onwards, each forcing their knives to sever half of their own heart, and the runes in the circle and on their chests flared with brilliant red light, as they each removed the still-beating half-organs from their bodies, and replaced the other's missing section. Once the demi-hearts were in place, the runes flared again, sealing the wounds while leaving a dragon-shaped scar that faded as they watched. Then the runes flared _again_, one last time as the ritual completed and their inner gifts were finally unchained and released.

The top of the Astronomy Tower exploded.


	7. Chapter 7

**On Crimson Wings.**

**Part 1 of The Heart of the Dragon.**

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Harry Potter, the world or the characters. They belong to J. , with gratitude for letting us play with them. The challenge comes from GoldenSteel, with gratitude for the ideas. The only thing I could lay claim to are the story and plotline, but that just seems greedy..._

Draconic Communication is indicated this way: ¤_**I'm a Dragon, too!**_¤

**Chapter 7: As Good as a Holiday...**

Minerva McGonagall was sitting in her accustomed place in the Great Hall when the wave of surging power tore through the notice-me-not wards and basically flattened almost every magical person in the castle. She managed to maintain her place due partly to experience, and partly to the fact she was already seated. Albus hadn't been so lucky, leaning forward as he'd been about to sit, with the end result of pushing his face into the mashed potato when the eldritch wave-front hammered past him. When the dragons outside, in readiness for the first task, started to, for lack of a better term, sing out, she knew that all the Champions would know some of what was entailed...

Her eyes shot to where Harry Potter was accustomed to sitting, and she noted he and Hermione were missing, and she rose and moved quickly to the Gryffindor table. Recalling that her star students were 'on the outs' with one Ronald Weasley, she instead turned to Neville.

"Mr Longbottom," she asked, in a tone that would _not_ encourage reticence, "can you tell me where Mr Potter and Miss Granger are?" The Longbottom Scion, one of the few boys who did believe Harry, glanced across to the Ravenclaw table, where he received the nod from a certain dreamy-eyed damsel.

"I think they were heading to the Astronomy Tower..." He didn't get any further, as that was when said Tower exploded. After a bare few moments pause, as the knowledge of what had just happened set in, Professor McGonagall, followed by those students who's believed the raven-haired wizard and any number of gawkers (both staff and students), ran for the source of the disruption.

* * *

The explosion was an impressive one, and scattered the telescopes and crenellations from the tower over a large area. The largest telescope was later found stuck through the roof of the Hog's Head, Dumbledore would be forced to field complaints from the merfolk about sections of castle littering the lake, and Bane complained long and loud about the weathervane the centaur Healers had had to remove from his flank. All evidence of the ritual had been wiped away in the initial blast of fire, and the whole thing could have been passed off as some strange coincidence of massive accidental magic... if it weren't for the Dragons.

* * *

A few bare instants before the explosion, both Harry and Hermione realised something was wrong, different, that this wasn't supposed to be happening. Time had, more or less, slowed to a crawl as each strove desperately to protect the other, even as the pressure from the detonation scattered their piles of clothing like petals in the wind. When the waves of fire washed over them, they pushed them hard against the stone of the castle, across the tower to the door that granted access between tower and castle, and pinned them there as they passed out.

It was the pounding on the wooden door that dragged the comatose couple back to consciousness. Harry opened his eyes slightly ahead of Hermione, and panicked at what he saw before him. It was definitely a dragon, even Ron wasn't so stupid as to deny that, and why it smelled like his Hermione he didn't know. It was huge, around thirty feet from nose to tail-tip, with polished black horns and claws and dark red scales covering her... her?... body. The wings were furled tight to her sides as she stared up at him, horror and panic in her golden eyes, and he guessed they'd be about a third again as long as she was... The definitive sign, he thought, was the area around the small horns protruding from the rear of her skull, where a number of spines and frills stood out, reminding him incontrovertibly of someone... ¤_**Hermione?**_¤

Hermione's awakening was little better. There was the hammering of the wooden door leading down into the tower beneath her, and she was pinned to that surface by the weight of a dragon! He was big, at least thirty feet, with two polished black horns two feet long pointing back from his brow, and a third horn of around six inches in length on his nose. For a second she pondered why she was so certain the dragon was male, then she realised it smelled male, and more than a little like Harry, although why he did she couldn't tell... His scales were a deep, rich mahogany shade, a red so deep it was the next best thing to black, and his wings adjusted instinctively to aid his balance as he leapt back, staring at her with caution and wariness until...¤_**Hermione?**_¤ Her own response was dragged from her, even as she realised it had to be true.

¤_**Harry? Is that... who am I kidding, of course it's you...**_¤ She tried to stand, only to collapse back to all fours with a clap of wind as... _her wings!_... beat to keep her from falling. She stared at them, realising slowly what they must be, and stared again at Harry. ¤_**This is your fault,**_¤ she snarled, and the rumble that emerged from her chest caused the hammering on the door beneath her to cease. ¤_**How did we end up as... as... dragons?**_¤

Harry shook his head, an easy task with a neck that was now as long as he had been tall. ¤_**I have no idea, Hermione,**_¤ he replied, as he inspected the end of his tail. There was a wide spade-like tip to it, and as he examined it, it expanded, fanning out into five tine-like blades, each razor-sharp. ¤_**Do you mean it wasn't your ritual?**_¤

¤_**It wasn't supposed to change us physically!**_¤ she retorted. ¤_**The ritual was to link our minds, souls and magical cores. It would unlock any hidden talents we were supposed to have, and each of us would gain the powers of the other as well as our own. I don't know what went wrong, because if anything had gone wrong, we'd both be... dead...**_¤ She shuddered at the thought. ¤_**This needs more research, and I'm not sure that I'd fit in the library anymore...**_¤ The scales on her face seemed to pale at the very concept.

Any further discussion was interrupted by the flare of fire that preceded Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, and his unique form of transport. Emerging from that burst were the Headmaster himself, and Professors Snape and Flitwick. There was a terrible moment as the teachers met the gaze of the draconic teenagers... then Snape raised his wand and hurled a purple spell that seemed to slice through even the air around them as he lashed out at the wyrms.

Seeing his potent Dark Severing Curse crushed harmlessly against the Dragons' hides as they backed towards the edge of the tower, Snape muttered darkly. He'd thought he only had one of these things to deal with, and to find two of them was a shock he was _not_ ready for. Dumbledore and Flitwick were wielding all their not-inconsiderable power and skill in an attempt to subdue he creatures, but without some way to overcome the dragon's resistance to magic, their attempts were met with failure. Stunners meant nothing, except a vague tickle, to the hide of even a lesser dragon, unless severely overpowered, and against two dragons, such a tactic being tried by a mere three wizards was tantamount to dragon-assisted suicide...

A burst of fire streamed from the male's mouth, lashing across the tower roof, what remained of it, and driving them back. The very stone glowed white afterwards, near-molten from the dragon's breath, as the pair turned and dove from the tower, breaking into instinctive, if clumsy, flight, heading towards the Forbidden Forest.

* * *

The staff and students present from all three schools were watching the two Great Dragons flying away. They failed to notice a nod passing from Nikolai Karkaroff to Bryn Eisenheim, or the one that Isabeau duMortier gave her friend Jin, as she handed him a pile of clothing she'd collected from around the school... and the two wands she'd had to find by scent. As Bryn and Jin slipped away from the crowd, their friends (or rather, fellow Great Dragons) ran interference. As the school came to realise that Harry Potter and Hermione Granger were missing, worry and panic were beginning to set in. Where were the Golden Couple?

Padma and Parvati, as well as Susan, Hannah and the Greengrass sisters, approached Katie, asking where their friends were. Waving Neville over, so she'd only have to say this once, the Gryffindor chaser shared what she knew. "I told Harry where Hermione was, and he went straight there, while I got Fred and George to put his packages in his trunk, and thank goodness he shared the password with them. My guess is that he and Hermione did... _that_... and something went... r-r-wrong..." As Neville patted the older girl on the back, the others quietly hugged her, just as devastated by the thought of their friends dying.

"Nothing went wrong," Luna stated, and she would hear no other word on the subject. "Now we should all learn as much as we can about Great Dragons."

It was Susan who spoke up, as Daphne and her sister didn't wish to attract notice outside their little circle of friends. "Luna, there haven't been any Great Dragons in Britain for two hundred years," she said.

"And no sightings of Welsh Reds, that's what those two on the tower were, for four hundred," the strange little blonde agreed happily. "I wonder if they'll let me interview them? Or if _they _know where Harry and Hermione went?"

They had all gone quiet at Luna's proclamation. Everyone had heard of Welsh Reds, the greatest of the Great Dragons, practically Dragon Royalty, by all accounts, even though none had been seen for four hundred years... until these two. The first of their kind to disappear from the world, it seemed that they were also the first to return...

Before anyone could say anything, Luna began to sing in a low, clear voice that demanded attention, and was most unlike her usual tones.

"_The two are one, as they should be, for the Darkness draws yet nearer, _

_By their lights shall others see, their path becoming clearer._

_Where hope seems thin, then place your trust, in power that wisdom brings,_

_Till Darkest Lord be made as dust, by those on Crimson Wings..._

_The Dark has fallen once before, saved by shattered soul,_

_Yet all his parts are gone from him, and lost to his control._

_Seek them out, and strike them down, list not to their lies,_

_For the sake of all that lives, beneath the Azure Skies..._

_Third time for all then you must face, the Dark dares not to die,_

_On sacred tor, in ancient place, well hid to passers-by._

_And final fate shall come to pass, to Darkness or to Light,_

_That all belong to he who lives, within Obsidian Night."_

The petite blonde blinked and shook her head, then looked at her friends (such a lovely phrase to say) who stared back in horrified confusion. "Was it something I said?"

* * *

Harry soared over the Forbidden Forest, seeking a clearing in which they could land as Hermione followed him, sharing in the exhilaration he found in flight. Truth be told, with the wind beneath her own wings, she could see why he loved it so much... The liberating sensation was incredible. As her thoughts turned to her boyfriend, and his to her, they saw a large white rock in a clearing deep within the Forest, an excellent place to regroup. She just hoped landing was as instinctive as flight...

It wasn't. They were fortunate that the soft earth cushioned them somewhat as they came down, but their landings would definitely need work. Turning to Harry, she began to let loose.

¤_**I can't stand it!**_¤ she roared, shaking the trees. ¤_**We can't go back like this! No-one will recognise us! How am I supposed to go to school if I'm a dragon, Harry? If they find out, they'll break our wands, and Obliviate us... well, attempt to Obliviate us... and throw us out into... No,**_¤ she realised, ¤_**they won't put us in the muggle world, we'd stand out like a whale in a shopping centre. They'll gulp k-kill us...**_¤

Harry moved to his beloved Hermione's side, and nuzzled his new face against hers, twining his neck with her own, striving to comfort her. It was... different, striving for closeness in this form, and the two were still getting used to themselves. They figured out the dragon-breath quite easily, since Harry had, by instinct, already used it on the tower. Their senses had grown sharper, and they were _much_ stronger. At the same time, they learned that they were, fortunately, immune to fire. Hermione admitted sheepishly that her aim needed work, but Harry insisted his was no better.

¤_**After all,**_¤ he said, ¤_** I **_**was **_**trying to hit Snape. You saw how well **_**that**_** went.**_¤ Any further conversation was halted by a clapping, much like applause, as a Chinese boy in a Beauxbatons uniform stepped into the clearing. Behind him, there was a girl in a Durmstrang uniform, with purple hair that reached the middle of her back in a braid.

"Nihao and bonjour, Most High," he said, bowing deeply as he did so. Walking forward carefully as the two stared at him, trying to read his body language and intentions. Kneeling, he set two piles of clothes on the white rock, each with a wand atop it. "My name is Huang Shen Jin, called Jin, and this inestimable beauty is Brynhild Eisenheim. We mean no harm, and do not seek conflict within your domain. We sought domain of our own in these lands, but were obviously ill-informed of the existence of yourselves, whose scent pervades this place... well, not _this_ place," here he waved his hand at the surrounding forest, "but the castle that is Hogwarts. We did not expect Welsh Reds, let alone a mated pair..."

The girl, Bryn, jabbed her fingers into her friend's ribs, silencing him besides a short 'urk'. "What my talkative companion is trying to say," she said, with a beautiful lilt to her voice that spoke of Norway, or Sweden, "is that we are sorry to intrude, and offer a boon, a service, to repay our trespass."

Hermione glanced at Harry, and he at her, before she answered them. If the two strangers were talking to them, maybe they could understand the answers?

¤_**One boon, or one boon from each?**_¤ she asked. Bryn chuckled.

"A most draconic reply," she said. "Each of us in trespass must offer a boon, it is the Old Ways of our kind. You don't know them?" As Hermione and Harry shook their heads, Bryn cursed under her breath. "You should have been told a good six months ago, before either of you went through the Change, it's tradition that we are told before we are sixteen. Your parents have much to answer for, little ones."

Jin spoke up. "I can see the bindings of Fate and Destiny in this, Bryn. There is more to this than we know. For now, it would be good if you called on our boons quickly. I can scent one who belongs to a hunter family nearby..."

¤_**Ummm,**_¤ Harry said, slightly sheepish, ¤_**That would be me. My name is Harry Potter, and this is Hermione Granger, and I only found out about my titles and family today. I haven't even had a chance to tell anyone else yet.**_¤ He looked himself up and down. ¤_**Fangblade said my duty as the Hunter was to interact with the magical creatures of Britain, but I don't think he meant this...**_¤

Jin gaped at him, and Bryn wasn't much better. Hermione nuzzled against him, telling him without words that it made no difference to her. It was Bryn who recovered first.

"You are telling us, there is no dragon blood in your ancestry? That you are a Potter, a hunter of dragons?" Her eyes narrowed as she hissed her words. "Then how did this come to pass? How did you steal the form of what, to we Great Dragons, is almost royalty?"

Harry shrugged. ¤_**I don't know,**_¤ he said, curling up on the ground, twining his tail with his... girlfriend's? That didn't feel strong enough now, perhaps mate?... ¤_**We start at the beginning I guess...**_¤

* * *

Far to the south of Hogwarts, in a large House in one of the better parts of London, a n anxious mother read her daughter's latest letter, explaining what was happening around her best friend, one Harry Potter. Emily Granger had heard of that name before, and was worried her child would have her heart broken soon. The Potters had hunted her kind in the past, mostly those rogues who would strike against human civilisation admittedly. But when the Ministry of magic had passed their decree, and stolen what of their hoards they could find, the Potters had been in the vanguard. If the goblins hadn't helped the Great Dragons to hide, there wouldn't be any. True, the Potters had never been as bloodthirsty as the MacNairs, or as ruthless as the Prewitts, but they were still the Hunters.

As she read on the next paragraph chilled her to the bone. "_No,_" she thought, desperate for what she was reading to be wrong. "_These symptoms, she's about to Change, this is impossible, she' a good six months away from it... That boy, that... Potter! Of course she changed early, and it's his fault!_" She skimmed through the rest of the letter, her heart skipping beats as she read of her beloved Hermione's love for this boy, and her decision to be with him all the way to the end...

"David," she said, with a crisp, no-nonsense tone that had him at alert instantly. "Cancel all our appointments for the next week. We're going to Scotland." As she met his stunned gaze with her tear-filled one, the boiling-hot water dripped one tiny drop from her cheek to fall and steam upon the letter. "Our daughter needs me."

* * *

Once Harry and Hermione had told their tale, it hadn't taken her long to ask their first boon. Since by tradition, the foreign dragons couldn't teach them of the traditions and customs of the wyrms, she asked that Jin teach them how to retake their human forms. They also determined that Isabeau ("Call her 'Izzy', she hates that," Jin told them) had already performed her boon, by gathering the clothes and wands. "Not that you'll need them much longer," Bryn had said. "Your wands create a focal point by giving the magic a channel, a path to follow. Most humans don't understand the real trick to wandless magic. Some of the most dangerous wands in the past were made of bone, and a heartstring is just another form of sinew. You have both of those in your arm, you just need to get used to channelling magic that way instead of through your wand."

¤_**So that'll be your boon, Bryn,**_¤ Hermione rumbled. Harry had just managed to Change back to human, now he just had to maintain it. It was uncomfortable, 'squeezing' all their draconic mass and 'majesty' into the small human body. But under Jin's tutelage, they managed it. It had taken them hours and the moon had set long ago. Jin gave them an extra piece of advice.

"Metamorphosis is similar to an animagus transformation," he told them. "There are three key differences, though. First is that it isn't as limited. If you know it well enough, and it isn't bigger than you, or smaller than say, a wolf, you can become it. You just have to learn how. Second, you are always a dragon. Just because you happen to look like a wolf, it does not make you a wolf. It makes you a dragon who looks like a wolf. Third, and perhaps most important, it doesn't change the way animals react to you. You _will _scare the fertiliser out of most wild animals, and most domestic ones too. Familiars are usually the exception, but that depends on their master."

With that, the Scandinavian Blue and the Chinese Gold departed, returning to their respective schoolmates. Harry looked at Hermione after they'd assumed human form and dressed once more. "We'd better get back, I'm sure people are going to be worried about us."

* * *

Through the inventive use of spells, Harry was able to cause their clothing to look as though they'd been thrown by the explosion, and Hermione'd quietly summoned his Firebolt so that it could be their excuse for surviving. The downside was that they had to simulate the damage that it would have taken in that situation. Hermione was at first hesitant to break or even damage her boyfriend's broom (even ignoring the wince-worthy double meaning), until Harry mentioned that he no longer needed one unless he planned to play Quidditch. Since that wouldn't be happening until next year at the earliest...

* * *

Staggering out of the Forbidden Forest, the Crimson Couple were almost at once swarmed by other students, and the staff had trouble getting to them. Once they'd managed to push past the general throng, they encountered the disapproving glares and questioning of the teachers.

"Harry, my boy," the headmaster said, in a warm, jovial voice, while a small part of him wondered how long the boy had been a llama for (he'd had a lemon drop to soothe his nerves). "I would like to know where you've been."

The raven-haired young man stared at the Professor with disbelief. Looking down at himself and Hermione, and making it obvious, he brushed leaves and dirt from his robes and spoke sarcastically. "Hairdressers, sir. We seem to have some _very _bad dandruff."

"That's alright, then," Dumbledore replied, attracting disbelieving stares, not just from the two metamorphed Dragons, but the other teachers as well. "As long as you weren't out getting married to Miss Granger, everything should be fine. Our world wouldn't be happy with that." He then wandered back to his office, leaving the others behind him. Recovering from the shock of what he'd just said, McGonagall turned back to her prize students.

"Are the two of you alright, Mister Potter?" she asked, worried for them, and they made a show of going over themselves, 'inspecting' each other for injuries.

"Other than our robes, nothing seems badly damaged," Hermione finally answered. "No broken bones, no massive injuries, little more than scratches. If Madam Pomfrey wants to look us over, we'll head up to the hospital wing, but otherwise, we're fine."

As agreed, Harry muttered at this point. "We're fine, but my broom isn't." He pulled the pieces of Firebolt from his robe pocket, hoping that they'd mimicked the damage it was supposed to have taken well enough.

"Can you tell me what happened?" the Transfiguration professor asked, as she stared at the pieces. She knew exactly how much damage these brooms could stand up to. And that this one was broken was troubling.

Harry nodded. "I'd just gotten back from Gringotts when Katie told me where Hermione was, and gave me a phrase so I'd know what she wanted, and then she took my packages so Fred and George could put them in my trunk." One part truth, he noted. "When I got to the tower, Hermione and I began to perform a ritual she'd found that would link and enhance, even share, our abilities." Two parts truth, now. "We'd just finished it, when this... this _surge_ of magic came out of nowhere and smashed the wards we'd set up so we weren't interrupted. We saw two eggs, they had to be dragon eggs, appear on the tower, hatch and the hatchlings grew bigger very quickly." Add one part lie. " Then there was this explosion and we found our selves flying over the Forbidden Forest, so I summoned my broom. Just lucky Hermione'd been teaching me that spell, but that was the first time I'd used it, and I'm glad it worked. So I slowed us down, and then we hit the trees. It's a lot harder to pull off some of those seeker moves with a passenger, so we got a bit banged around, but my Firebolt got the worst of it. Didn't help that it had flown through the explosion and the bristles caught." Add liberal seasonings of half-truths and falsehoods, and serve. Now if the recipient would just swallow the mix...

"I don't think you're telling me everything Mister Potter, but you can call by my office once you've been to Madam Pomfrey." She looked around. The only other teacher close enough for her voice to be heard was Flitwick. "If you're asked, or if Severus tries to hand you a detention, say that it's about your punishment for this mess." So saying, she nodded to the diminutive Charms professor, and the two returned to the castle.

* * *

Their friends refused to leave them alone as they made their way to the hospital wing, and Luna's song was repeated to them. The little blonde had no recollection of the song at all.

"She's a seer," Hermione said. "Specifically, an oracle. Although she might be more than that, too..."


	8. Chapter 8

**On Crimson Wings.**

**Part 1 of The Heart of the Dragon.**

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Harry Potter, the world or the characters. They belong to J. , with gratitude for letting us play with them. The challenge comes from GoldenSteel, with gratitude for the ideas. The only thing I could lay claim to are the story and plotline, but that just seems greedy..._

Draconic Communication is indicated this way: ¤_**I'm a Dragon, too!**_¤

**Chapter 8: Parents, Papers and Planning.**

The massive form of the mighty creature was seventy-five feet long, with a hundred-foot wingspan (she knew because she'd measured, with David's help). She soared through the night-time sky, at a high altitude to keep the humans from noticing her. The Great Dragon that was Emily Granger was full grown, and knew her Draconic etiquette well, as well as her abilities and limits. For one, while she was an immensely magical creature, she didn't have the innate gifts of draconic magic, an elemental sorcery... To her, wind was for flying on, water for swimming in, earth for dwelling in and fire for breathing out. Most Dragons had similar limits, although some could tap into their elemental nature to wield those elements. Each dragon related to one or two elements above all the others, and the Welsh Red was fire incarnate. As a result, David Granger was very warm indeed, despite the chill Scottish winds that dragged at his garments as he sat latched to the unique saddle that belonged to his Dragon-bride.

Cancelling their business schedule had been the easy part, he reflected. Getting the massive piece of leather-work from its hiding place in the attic and bringing it to the backyard had been somewhat trickier. He'd been wary when Hermione had first written home of the Troll in first year, especially about this 'Harry Potter' who'd been mentioned at least twice in every letter since. She hadn't wanted to admit it, but he knew Emily had been bothered by the boy's name as much as the adventures that seemed to follow him around like trouble on a leash. The cute little gnawing on her bottom lip said so, the self-same mannerism their daughter had when plagued by worry and emotion. Still, by all his wife had told him, Hermione should _not_ have been this far into the Change at this time...

The straps that anchored the ex-military dental surgeon were put to a rather strenuous test as his beloved wife back-winged suddenly, shedding all forward momentum in a few seconds. Only a Crimean Black could have stopped any faster. As she gently descended to earth, he called out to her, happy that she'd insisted on teaching him the Draconic language. _He_ couldn't speak it, it was too hard on his all-too-human vocal cords, but he could understand her replies.

"What's wrong, Em?" he yelled over the wind. "I hate to sound like a six-year-old, but are we there yet?"

¤_**No,**_¤ she answered, a soft rumbling whisper that shook him to the bone, ¤_**but there's something wrong. I can smell others, four lesser kin, and five or six greater, the exact count is confused. What is going on?**_¤ Crouching as she landed, she sniffed again, and again. ¤_**Her scent is the dominant here, but either there's an echo, or there's another Red in the valley... a male, perhaps?**_¤ As her husband dismounted, she unsnapped the belts that held her saddle on. Once he and it were safely on the ground, she began to squeeze herself into her human shape again.

David reached down to the saddle and lifted the long bundle and backpack. He extracted a large bore semi-automatic shotgun. Carefully, he checked the ammunition. Five clips of scatter-shot, marked by blue tape, and five of slug, with red. He found places for them in the many pockets of his old fatigues, and slung the shotgun, loaded with a blue-taped clip, across his back. "So what now?" he asked. It was all well and good be a take-charge kind of man, but when you're married to a _real_ dragon, you learn when to obey...

"Now," Emily said as she turned in the direction of the distant lights that marked out the village of Hogsmeade and the castle that was Hogwarts, "we invite our daughter to come and talk to us."

* * *

The dragon pens were anything but quiet this morning, thought one Charles Weasley, having drawn the short straw. As the sun rose, the handlers were plucking up their courage to try and calm their charges, and the short straw got the Horntail. The gout of fire that shot out of the nesting mother's mouth told him that while he loved the dragons, and the work, which paid extremely well with his mastery, going anywhere near that pen would mean the next job he got would require experience in sitting on a cloud, playing a harp. He hated the harp.

The bellow that rumbled across the valley from South to North silenced all the dragons, who immediately lowered their heads in that direction. It was like thunder without a storm, he would describe it later. Within the grounds, Severus Snape rolled over in his sleep, deep in a nightmare of an unknown Welsh Red. Of the others who might have understood the message in the roar, only four were awake.

Nikolai Karkaroff was watching his best friend Viktor practice his duelling on the deck of the Durmstrang ship as the roar hammered across the sky. He looked up, waved off his friend's concern.

"A distant storm approaches, tovarisch," he said, "naught to worry over yet."

Isabeau duMortier had just tucked a blanket about the exhausted veela who'd spent most of the night practising and researching. Fleur was trying to focus, she knew, but the young witch had been... distracted. She'd gotten used to Jin's friendly 'ancient wisdom' attitude, and his apparent immunity to her allure, even if she didn't know the real reason. But here at Hogwarts were no less than five young men who seemed to share it! When the call roared across the valley, Isabeau looked South. Jin had told her of the events of the night before, again calling her 'little sister' as he was wont to do. He was a matter of days older than she. She wasn't sure where this was going, but 'interesting times' were ahead.

Harry heard it also, much at the same time as did its intended recipient, as they had woken early, with a vast gnawing hunger, and were currently sitting in the Great Hall devouring copious quantities of roasted shark.

¤_**HERMIONE JANE GRANGER! WE ARE HERE AT THE SOUTH END OF THE VALLEY, LOOK FOR THE TENT YOUR FATHER USES FOR CAMPING TRIPS! DO NOT KEEP ME WAITING, MY DAUGHTER!**_¤

Hermione swallowed her mouthful of shark-meat. "I... I think that was... my mum," she whispered, slightly in awe.

* * *

Draco Malfoy had been looking for a way to taunt Potter, to make him even more hated, but when Greengrass had refused to make the badges as he'd demanded, and then hexed his feet to the floor with a sticking charm at the same time as her friend Davis, and her little sister had done the same thing to Crabbe and Goyle, his plans were... delayed. Now, after the previous night's incident, he felt he had the perfect ammunition to take the 'Boy-who-lived' down a peg or two. With Pansy on his arm and his erstwhile minions close behind (that was what they were after all, even if he couldn't call them that in public), he strode across to the Gryffindor table.

"Hey, Scarhead," he called out, loud enough for the entire Hall to hear, those who'd shown up this early, "I heard about you 'disappearing' with the Mud-blood last night. Tell me, how was she?" The Great Hall was totally silent, although Professors McGonagall and Flitwick stood to administer discipline...

The aura of sheer, mind-numbing, unrelenting fear that ripped through the Great hall was almost physical, strong enough to drive the teachers back a step or two, and for the students to be pressured to the floor by the remorseless grip of terror, the sense that they were locked in a cage with multiple multi-tonne apex predators, and had the primitive pieces of their brains screaming at them a vast litany of survival strategies that boiled down to 'it's a good time to panic now'. Draco and his cohorts, locked at the centre of it as Harry and Hermione glared at them, were quite literally paralysed with fear, petrified almost.

It was Harry who broke the silence. "Did you say something, Malfoy? Whimper for yes, and faint for no." Draco soiled himself, then passed out. "What would you call that response?" Harry asked his girlfriend, as the fear backed off a notch, and the whole Hall breathed once again.

"I'd call it 'I did, but I realise I was stupid', Harry." She turned her gaze on the other three Slytherins. "You three had best apologise to his Grace when you have the chance." The polite suggestion scared them more than all of Draco's 'when my father' speeches put together, and not a one of them knew why.

"If you'll excuse us, we have an appointment to keep. We should be back for lunch. My lady," Harry said, and flamboyantly offered Hermione his arm, _coincidentally_ giving the Slytherins who remained conscious a look at his signet ring. An uncomplicated thing, it was, a simple silver band and a large emerald which was etched with a silver serpent... that pulsed with a magic that demanded recognition. Pansy understood instantly, and promptly decided that the hours it would take to educate Crabbe and Goyle as to its meaning would be well worth it.

As the Crimson Couple left the Hall, heading towards Madam Hooch's office to get permission to borrow a school broom, Minerva recovered. Telling the nearest prefect to get young Mister Malfoy cleaned off and taken to the hospital wing, she took the time to breathe, feeling unbearably glad that she was able to. "What was that... that... I'd call it fear, but there is no way that the word is strong enough."

Filius answered her. "I've heard of it. The goblins were always closer to the Great Dragons than Wizards were, until they disappeared. That was dragon-fear, and a very powerful presence of it at that."

* * *

Dumbledore was a little grumpy that morning as he emerged from his chambers. Usually he woke up when the post owl delivered his subscription to the Daily Prophet, but this morning, none had done so. From what he could see as he arrived in the Great Hall, in time to see Draco being carried off to Madam Pomfrey's care, probably with large doses of calming potions, he didn't think anyone else had, either. He approached his deputy as she stood whispering with the Charms professor, and cleared his throat.

"Minerva, I don't suppose you've heard of any problems with the delivery of the Prophet, have you? My issue never arrived this morning, and I can't seem to find one anywhere." Indeed, even as he looked around, he couldn't see a single copy at any of the tables.

Minerva blinked at him with a feline reserve. "I'm sorry, Albus. Apparently, the Prophet has been bought out. Someone seems to have decided they'd like some truth with their breakfast each morning, rather than large doses of fiction." She handed him a note. "Once it's been through its shake-up and shake-down, the Daily Sage will begin printing, and should have a reporter available in plenty of time to cover the First Task." As he perused the note, she silently decided that he was getting a little too odd to learn what she and Filius suspected about Mister Potter and Miss Granger. Sighing with regret, she walked away with her old friend.

* * *

David had brought plenty of his wife's favourite meal, and was frying it in a pan over a small campfire, as she pretty much ate it as it became available. She still insisted that orca had its own merits, but he'd drawn the line at ordering shark steaks. As they sat patiently, she scanned the horizon, watching for her daughter. Then she saw her, being trailed, from above and behind, a little to the left, by a male... another Welsh Red... that had a broomstick in his mouth. As the adolescent wyrms back-winged and landed clumsily, she stepped forward, right to the edge of the valley, and held out her arms. A few heartbeats later, and her little girl was in her arms. Someone had showed her how to shift! Glaring up at the male, she realised she could scent him on her daughter, and she snarled.

"Mum! Stop it! I just found one I like, you may _not_ scare him away," Hermione declared, half-joking. Turning to her boyfriend, she went on. "You'd better shift again Harry."

The look on her mother's face was near priceless. "Your Harry Potter's a Welsh Red too? Then he can't be one of those... wait, I can smell a hunter here... What is going on?"

The now-human-shaped Harry answered her. "It is a long story, and we have to be back by lunch, but if you're willing to listen, and tell a story in turn, we'll tell you."

* * *

It took two hours before the two of them had covered everything, especially with the Grangers' interruptions for clarification and questions. Emily had very nearly snarled again when he'd revealed that yes, he _was_ that Potter, the Hunter from Ancient Days, as well as the Duke of Slytherin and Lord of his own Ancient and Noble House... the last of said House, in fact. The ritual they'd performed had not gone over well, either. David had his shotgun within easy reach the whole time, and although Harry had not seen this model of weapon before, he recalled enough from a combination of TV shows (Dudley liked anything with gunfire and explosions) and the time before Hogwarts when Uncle Vernon had bought that rifle, to understand, well enough, what this was. Emily's tale was an easier one. Her family, mother to daughter, had been Dragons for over four hundred years, and had asked the goblins, when they went into hiding, to find a trustworthy family to hold it in trust for them until they returned. When Hermione had received her Hogwarts letter, there was hope that the time would soon be here...

In Harry's mind, a few things connected, and he began to laugh. At first, Hermione wondered if he'd slipped a gear, so to speak, as did her parents, but as he tried to gasp out an explanation, it was readily apparent to her that her... boyfriend didn't feel like the right word any more, mate?... had simply lived up to his family motto once more. Once he'd managed to get the laughing fit under control, he was happy to explain.

"The goblins had to find someone trustworthy, right? They didn't want anyone in the Ministry getting hold of it, like the MacNairs, so they found the Hunter. It's an Arthurian title, one of only five left since they die out when the line's name does, that requires the Hunter to interact with the magical creatures of Britain, not just to hunt them, but to keep the peace. I don't think anyone could have predicted I'd have _this_ much interaction, though. The Hunter's line pledged to hold the hoard of a certain line in trust until its heir should enter Gringotts and ask for it. What are the odds that its _your_ line they're waiting for? Then when you factor in my luck, it's a certainty." He sighed. "Just for one day, I'd have liked to know what _normal _was like."

* * *

After agreeing to spend the Yule holidays with the Grangers, Harry was interrogated (in-terror-gated?) by David Granger. He discovered that being a multi-tonne apex predator meant nothing when it came to his mate's father, possibly because the man was married to one. He wanted his little girl happy. Even if said 'little girl' _was_ one of the aforementioned multi-tonne apex predators.

Emily Granger insisted on a crash course in draconic etiquette and traditions, managing to cover the important ones: Domain, Visitation and Boons. The two young Dragons also received some unexpected, and somewhat unnerving, advice from the older Dragon.

"You may think you're too young, and that you don't have time," she said, with a look on her face that announced she wasn't pleased to have to say this. "But you should really consider having your mating flight soon. The scent that nesting mothers give off does _not_ make for stable males. Besides, if I can smell Harry on you this strongly, yet not scent the mating itself, it might seem as if you've rejected him. Not that you have," she added quickly, at the hurt in Harry's eyes. "It's just that other males, especially those seeking a mate, might decide that she's available if they defeat you."

David Granger cleared his throat. "Harry," he said, "I know I'm not a wizard, and I'm not a drake or wyrm, I'm just an old soldier and aging dentist. But hear my promise." As Hermione hissed as she realised what her Dad was about to say, he went on. "For now, you have my blessing on this unorthodox union, but as God is my witness, if you break her heart, if you hurt her in anyway, I will end you."

Hermione knew exactly what her Harry was about to say. "David Granger, as God is my witness, should that happen, I'd let you."

* * *

Their return to the castle was met by a number of concerned friends. Luna and Daphne in particular led the way, dragging the couple to an abandoned classroom. "Alright Potter, spill it," the Greengrass heir demanded. "We've heard about that little show you put on this morning, and although it was good for Malfoy to get his comeuppance like that, you know as soon as he wakes up he's going to run to daddy or Snape to get you in trouble. What I want to know is how you got Parkinson and the trolls to back away. They're putting as much distance between themselves and Draco as they can. Pansy even asked me, nicely and with full protocol, if I could take a letter to the Owlery for her, because the owls didn't like her and she felt the letter was more important. So spill!"

Harry glanced at his mate, and Hermione nodded. He lifted his right hand so the others could see his left hand. "It seems that in addition to being Lord Potter, of that Ancient and Noble House, that I am also the Duke of Slytherin. There's more of course, but that's the short version."

He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I want to keep that under wraps as long as I can. Imagine how some people would react if it got around too fast."

The others nodded, and Luna piped up. "Did you know the Daily Prophet was bought out?" She asked. "Daddy put an article in the Quibbler about it. Minister Fudge has been using it to hide the truth and spread lies and vicious rumours as if they were fact, and a mysterious cabal of magical creatures and staunch heroes of justice decided to put a stop to it, and after a battle across the rooftops of London, they managed to overthrow the villainous wrackspurts that worked the presses and bought the Prophet. It's being replaced by the Daily Sage."

Luna's recitation of the article was too precise for it to have been anyone else's work, and she admitted that she had a few articles published in the Quibbler herself. But where the Prophet had always torn people down, her father's paper was dedicated to spreading hope. And ideas.

"So what do you think this new paper will be like?" Hermione asked, genuinely curious, as the others shrugged. As the others shrugged, she continued. "What is the difference between the Prophet and the Sage?" she asked insistently.

It was Harry's voice that answered. "The Prophet tells you what may or may not be true, casting it as incontrovertible fact that cannot be evaded. The Sage tells you what is there, what you need to know to make your own choices. I'd rather have a Sage than a Prophet any day." There was something in the way he spoke that clued her in.

"It was you, wasn't it?" she gasped. "You bought out the Prophet and replaced it with the Sage, didn't you? Why?" That was the one key point she didn't understand.

"Anagrams, Hermione," he said, to the puzzlement of the others as he pulled out what would go down in magical history as the last issue of the Daily Prophet, ever, and pointed at a circled name, attached to a trio of articles slamming Harry and herself, one of which descended into accusing her of using love potions to snare her beloved. The name was Tari Keretes, and sounded Greek at first, but with Harry's clue, she easily figured it out.

"Do you really mean to say that you spent... who-knows-how-many Galleons... on buying and putting out of business a newspaper because they printed a few bad stories about you?" she demanded an answer in her typically Hermione way, and a little of the dragon-fear from that morning leaked through, making those in the room nervous. When Harry's aura added a tiny dose of his dragon-fear, they became scared.

"No, Hermione." His voice wasn't angry, but matter-of-fact. He could feel the strong emotions that were churning within him, they were part of him, but they weren't ruling him, and he was gaining in confidence every hour she was his mate. "I spent sixteen million Galleons to buy and restructure a newspaper that will now tell the truth because that's what's in the charter for it, _and_ promote equality between all wizards and magical creatures as my duty demands, because they tried to drag _my _Hermione's name through the mud." As he dropped his aura, without ever realising he'd used it, he made a final comment before leaving the room. "They will _not_ be doing it again."

As Neville, Fred, George and the girls all began breathing again, Daphne turned to Hermione. "If you're not going to grab him and never let go," she said, "you're a fool."

The bushy-haired girl pulled at the neckline of her shirt, revealing the top end of her dragon-shaped scar. "Way ahead of you," she said.

* * *

The premier issue of the Daily Sage proclaimed their main objectives in the business. As Harry had said, the Prophet obscured fact with fiction, until it was most useful for wrapping fish and chips. The Sage would be speaking of what its readers needed to know, and leaving opinions up to the readers, who could write in to express their own views, and the editorial section. Everything else would be fact, or not written at all. Even their Headline story, **Triwizard Troubles**, stuck only to verifiable facts and agreed upon public interviews.

It was to the chagrin of all those who'd let the Prophet tell them what their opinions should be, that this publication did not. The legend 'We bring the facts, but you shape the truth' sat prominently beneath the open eye logo that had replaced the Prophet's crystal ball one. The thought that what they did shaped any part of the world was new to most of magical Britain.

* * *

Harry sat in the tent with the other Champions, waiting as Ludo Bagman offered each of them a chance to draw from the bag containing the miniatures of each dragon. "Your task," he had told them, "is to collect the Golden egg!" Harry knew that interfered with the Tradition of Domain. First in approaching the nest in any situation, and then in stealing from it. It was distasteful to him now, especially with what he and Hermione had become. So he sat back and waited, knowing that his Hermione could hear everything. Their senses had gotten super-humanly sharp. It was just a matter of getting used to them, and he was certain they'd manage that in time.

Fleur had drawn the Welsh Green, the lesser cousin to the wyrm he was, along with the tag that placed her to go second. The Chinese Fireball was Krum's by the look of it, and he was to go third. When Cedric drew the Swedish Short-snout, with the number one on its tag, Harry knew what was up next. Reaching into the bag he drew out the docile miniature. At least, it remained docile while in the bag. Once it was out it became a lively ball of attitude with scales, gnawing on his dragonhide gloves and occasionally belching fire in his direction.

"Can I keep this?" he asked. "I have a friend who would love to have it." He was thinking of Hagrid, who still missed Norbert... well Norberta, really... and how this would cheer him up no end, having a little dragon that wouldn't destroy everything around it as it got older and bigger. Outside, Hermione smiled, knowing what he meant to do. She'd hugged him for luck, and drawn him into a truly serious kiss earlier, before telling him what was what. "I understand that you want to keep it secret a bit longer," she'd said, "but if it comes down to the secret or your life, choose your life. Or else."

As he mused, catching the scent of his Dragon-bride, Harry was approached by Bagman. "Got a plan?" he whispered. " Need any tips? I'll say nothing if you won't." The former Quidditch star turned to meet Harry's angry gaze, and Harry fell into the man's mind, catching jumbled pictures and memories, although one stood out: Bagman had cheated the goblins at one point in his gambling, and was hoping to make enough to escape their wrath by betting on the least-likely candidate... and helping them win. As he pulled himself from the older wizard's mind, harry was forced to wonder where _that_ had come from. Perhaps those old legends some muggles told about meeting the eyes of dragon weren't so far-fetched.

"My plan, Mister Bagman," he replied as the slightly confused wizard shook his head, "begins with me going out there and letting the dragon breathe fire on me. From there I'll wing it."

"Ahh." Bagman thought he had the boy's plan now. "A quick flame-freezing charm, then?"

"Heavens, no, sir," Harry replied. "I won't be taught that one until fifth year."

* * *

Cedric Diggory looked up from the Golden egg in his grasp as Madam Pomfrey treated his burns. The transfiguration he'd used, turning boulders into dogs, had been incredibly useful, as a distraction. While the dogs were drawing the Short-snout's attention, he'd snuck around and snatched the egg, and ran. He'd almost made it when the dragon had turned from the last dog... er, boulder... and breathed an impressive stream of fire. It may not have been the biggest dragon but its fire was hottest. It had caught his leg, and if it hadn't been for the armour the tournament supplied, he would have lost it. As it was, he wasn't allowed to walk on it for a few days. The veela, what was her name, Delacour? She'd tried charming the dragon to sleep, only to discover that the Welsh Green snored. With fire. It hadn't been as bad as his, but the flare had caught her left leg, opposite his right. It wasn't as bad, but she still sat there next to him as the Bulgarian, Viktor Krum, had his try. Unfortunately for the Bulgarian, the Fireball was moving its head too quickly for him to land a good shot in its eyes with the Conjunctivitis Curse. So he went to plan B, and summoned his broom. He was the youngest seeker on his nation's team, after all. The plan seemed to be working, and Krum lured the Chinese dragon from its position and dove for the egg, looping behind the dragon... and meeting the reason for its name coming the other way. As the handlers leapt into action, the wizards and witches assigned for this situation got Krum over to Madam Pomfrey's medical tent, where after a few tense moments, it was determined he would live... albeit he would need new eyebrows.

Cedric's score of thirty-six was fairly decent, and he couldn't see why Fleur only received thirty. Despite Karkaroff's bias, Viktor only managed to score a thirty-four, and now it was time to see what the youngest Champion, entered against his will (Cedric had been converted to this point of view by Susan, Hannah and their friends), Harry Potter, could do...


	9. Chapter 9

**On Crimson Wings.**

**Part 1 of The Heart of the Dragon.**

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Harry Potter, the world or the characters. They belong to J. , with gratitude for letting us play with them. The challenge comes from GoldenSteel, with gratitude for the ideas. The only thing I could lay claim to are the story and plotline, but that just seems greedy..._

Draconic Communication is indicated this way: ¤_**I'm a Dragon, too!**_¤

**Chapter 9: We Called them Fools...**

Harry rose from his seat and strode through the tent's opening when they called his name. He wore the armour that the Tournament had supplied the contestants, a padded outfit with thin layers of dragonhide on the surface, and a robe with his family crest and motto, a reference to his fictitious 'school'. As he walked through the gate to the dragon's pen, obviously and with hands out to his sides, the crowd held their breath...

The Hungarian Horntail was not the most even-tempered dragon at the best of times. This was like saying the ocean was a little wet. As Hermione watched, a memory triggered, about how quickly they'd gotten the nesting mother here after 'discovering' she'd be needed. It took at least a month to manage, more if the dragon was belligerent, and they'd only had three weeks' notice. The Horntail must have been ready to move long before Harry's name emerged... Reminding herself to look into this later, she returned her attention to her mate... just as the Horntail, catching scent of the intruder, raised her head and streamed her fiery breath all over him!

In a moment of silence, Ludo Bagman's voice was clearly audible. "Dear Merlin, he wasn't kidding..."

As the ground where Harry had been standing went molten and blackened, panic ensued. Cedric Diggory reached blindly for support, and found it in the hand of his rival Champion. Fleur Delacour sought something solid to anchor her senses, and gripped his hand tightly, struggling to understand how this... he wasn't a little boy, was he?... young man could stand and take the flames without trying to dodge. Madam Pomfrey had come to the front of her tent, and seeing her most frequent visitor (even if it was never _his_ fault) disappear in a cascade of fire, almost fainted. All through the stands, adults and students alike were horrified, and terror-stricken, at the fate of the youngest Champion. There were only two islands of calm in this storm of panic, the screams and shouts, as the dragon-handlers didn't even move. _They_ weren't about to try stopping the Horntail for someone who was already dead. The first island was called Luna Lovegood, and although she didn't know how, she knew Harry would be okay. After all, Hermione was acting fine wasn't she?

The other island of calm was indeed Hermione Granger, who stood and quietly paced to the barrier that separated the spectators from the field. Placing both hands on the fence, ignoring those who, assuming she was going to go after her boyfriend, were going to restrain her, she opened her mouth and screamed into the moment of silence that sprang up when the crowd saw her move...

"HARRY!" she almost roared. If she'd stopped there, the gathered throng may have been able to call it the first stages of grief, but she kept shouting... "THAT'S ENOUGH PLAYING AROUND! KICK HER SCALY ARSE AND GET THE EGG ALREADY!"

Stunned silence reigned over the crowd, as much at _Hermione _swearing as at the content of her scream, and as one, their reluctant gaze returned to the field, as the Horntail ceased her fiery assault. There, standing in the midst of the blackened, burning and slowly cooling obsidian that had once been soil and stones, was Harry Potter, one arm held before him, with a ball of flame the size of a cricket ball in his fist, while the trailing edges of his robes flickered with bright flames as they burned...

He threw the burning garment from him as he strode towards the very confused dragon, idly crushing the flames in his hand from existence. As she lunged at the boy, he sidestepped, spinning as he did so, and grabbed the sensitive edge of her nostril as it went past. The Horntail froze, and then something _very _strange happened... She began trembling, as though in fear... but she was a dragon, why was she scared?

Down on the field, Harry whispered, words he knew the dragon would understand, that, beyond the two of them, only the other Dragons now in the stands would hear. ¤_**Hush, mother of hunters, do not fear... It was not you who brought your clutch here... **_**you**_** and your sister-mothers did not violate domain... hush, calm, be at peace... that which is foreign sits with your children... let me remove it, and I shall give them the blessing of my mate and myself... hush, calm...**_¤ He was aware that the lesser cousin he spoke to more than likely did not understand his words, yet she understood the tone, and her trembling gradually halted. As the Horntail lowered her head, almost bowing to him, he walked slowly past her and crouched before the nest, lifting the golden egg from where it lay among the far more precious eggs. As Harry muttered over them, Hermione picked out his words on the wind, though no other _not_ a Dragon could. ¤_**Grow strong, fly free, hunt well.**_¤ Harry stood, cradling the golden egg in his left arm, and strode from the field to where Madam Pomfrey, who'd regained consciousness as he calmed the Horntail, waited to give him a thorough going over with diagnostic charms.

And the crowd went wild...

* * *

Madam Pomfrey cast her spells, and then, to be certain, cast them again... there was something undeniably... _off_ about the results. Although the spells told her he was in fine health, she was getting results that didn't match up to what she received from them when he'd been in her care in the past, and then there was that strange echo-like reading, as if the spell was scanning two people... She'd have to talk to Minerva about this.

* * *

Cedric had relaxed when Harry had proven to be okay, but having the youngest Champion _that_ close to a dragon was still nerve-wracking, and so he didn't realise he was still holding Fleur's hand until after Harry had left the field. When he did remember, he quickly let go with a hasty apology. Her reply was... unexpected.

"Eet's alrigh', m'sieur," she said, trying to hold back her allure, a failure under her current levels of stress. As he shook his head as the wave of veela magic washed over him, she almost sobbed. Was she ever going to find a friend? "Eet was ze 'eat of ze moment, and I needed ze anchor as much as did you." Damn the allure!

"If you're sure," he said, conversationally. "You did well charming the dragon, I don't understand what Crouch and Karkaroff were doing, marking you so low... You don't suppose they have a grudge against you? Something your grandmother did to his grandfather?"

Shocked at the normal conversation, she hesitated, but still replied. "Eet is more likely some-sing she wouldn't do to 'im, eef you can... catch my draft?"

"Drift, actually." Cedric corrected her. "I can imagine it."

* * *

As Harry emerged from the medical tent, he was immediately the target of a certain bushy-haired missile. Fielding Hermione with his right arm, he threw the egg to Neville, who, with their other friends, was approaching quickly with questions in their eyes. With both arms available for the task at hand, Harry swung his mate around in a circle that ended with the two of them standing pressed close together as their lips came together for a searing kiss.

As their friends circled around them, they missed the angry gaze of a certain redhead. He'd been all set to apologise, after seeing what the dragons were capable of, and not even Krum got off unhurt. It would be at least a week before the Quidditch prodigy was back on his feet. No-one bounced back that quick from full-body burns... but then Potter had to rub his nose in the fact that he was with Hermione now. All his 'friends' around him. And the potions weren't working either...

Snape had been stunned by what he saw. The Potter brat had again done the impossible... he'd somehow learned to speak Draconic... and had shielded well enough to avoid most of the dragonfire, then talked the dragon down! There was no way... Dumbledore himself couldn't have done that, even in his prime. As the applause died away and the crowd began discussing theories on how the boy had managed this, Snape looked around him. If he couldn't find the right puppet to deal with this, he might even have to step out of the shadows and deal with it himself.

Voldemort's agent stared at the field. No-one knew he was there, no-one suspected who he had disguised himself as. If Snape didn't have Dumbledore 'popped', or potioned up, to render him pliable, he was certain the old man would have noticed the discrepancies in his disguise. Of course, acting paranoid always helped. Still, that didn't explain what had just happened... and he hadn't been able to offer advice to the boy! Just as well, Krum's use of the tactic he'd planned showed a major flaw in the strategy. Of course, what he'd planned to work with the Horntail would never work against the Fireball, or even the Short-snout... But if the boy didn't need his help, did that make him the perfect target for his master's plans, or a deadly danger? He needed to think about this...

After several minutes, Harry emerged from the passionate kiss he'd shared with Hermione, with a somewhat distracted "wow" and a goofy grin as she looked up into his eyes, and they fell into each other's gaze... sharing their very souls for an eternity that lasted a few seconds. Looking around sheepishly, he accepted the egg back from Neville, stammering out thanks...

The Longbottom scion shook his head, and waved away the gratitude. "It's no bother, Harry, and I'd have to say you got your priorities right. Given a choice between her and ten kilos or so of gold, I know which one I'd rather catch." The laughter of the group was a welcome distraction, and as Hannah took Neville's arm, they turned towards the judges' table.

Professor Dumbledore was the first of the five to display his score, a solid nine, while Bagman sent up a ten, although the look on his face told Harry the former sportsman had changed his bet with the goblins... served him right. Crouch then awarded eight points, the highest he'd scored anyone, while Madame Maxime presented a nine... only Fleur had received a ten from the Beauxbatons Headmistress. Karkaroff was about to raise his wand when his nephew whispered in his ear, and then gave a six. Harry couldn't believe it. Here he was, the youngest Champion, and he was _winning_.

..."and so," Dumbledore said after the crowds noise had died back to a dull roar, The placings are as follows: In fourth place we have Miss Delacour at thirty points, in third is Mister Krum with thirty-four and Mister Diggory in second with thirty-five. Last, but certainly not least, we have Mister Potter in first place with an undeniable forty-two points. Thank you all for coming today, and you are now free until dinner."

* * *

Harry and Hermione looked around them. The number of friends they'd gained after fighting with Ron was large, and they idly wondered if that was because the ginger had made a conscious effort to keep others away (he couldn't push Hermione away after the troll incident, but he fought with her at the drop of a hat), or if potential friends had just decided having Ron as a friend in order to be Harry's friend was not a price they wanted to pay. Of course, the way they'd surrounded the Crimson Couple was a problem... they were going to want answers, and neither of the Dragons wished to lie to them...

It was Daphne who spoke first, taking charge as though born to it... which, come to think of it, she was... "Okay, obviously Gr... Hermione knew what was going on, and Luna has this super-confidence where the two of you are concerned, but that little stunt scared the hell out of us!" There was no ice in sight as the older of the two Slytherins ranted. "Fire is _not_ Slytherin's element, so that can't be because of your recent inheritance, unless it came from the Potters, and their secrets were in warding and tracking, as well as combat, but you didn't have any wards, or they would have cancelled them, you didn't have to find the dragon, and aside from that blast of fire, there was nothing we could call combat! What is going on here?"

Harry sighed. "We'll tell you all," he told them after a whispered conference with Hermione. "Heck, we'll even show you, but it has to done where we can't be interrupted, or overheard. It also has to be big enough, and there's only one place in the castle that meets that description. Meet us outside Moaning Myrtle's bathroom after dinner tonight, alright?"

Hermione spoke up. "I warn you, we'll have you swear an oath of secrecy, enforced by your own magic, and you won't be able to speak of it to anyone who doesn't already know the secret. Not just say they know, but actually know." From there, conversation switched to ordinary things, classes and schoolwork and what to do with their Saturdays without Quidditch...

* * *

Minerva sat next to Filius that night at dinner, with Poppy on his other side, quietly discussing the odd things about Mister Harry Potter. Poppy's results from after the First Task were brought up, and she was not alone in her puzzlement. "Every reading told me that it _was _Mister Potter I was checking, but there were no signs of any previous injuries," she'd informed them. "You know Polyjuice doesn't work deep enough to duplicate magical signatures, and there are no glamours that would be strong enough to fool that medical charm. And there was more... his blood has changed, and there was an odd shadow, almost like an echo of his magical core. I don't know what's going on."

The half-goblin professor nodded. "He didn't use any spell this morning either, not that I could tell," he confirmed. "It was like he was using pure willpower to keep the flames away from him, and I can't imagine how. Then there's how he dealt with Mister Malfoy this morning. That was pure dragonfear, according to all the stories my father's told me."

"They were performing a ritual to share their power," mused Minerva, as she cast her mind back on the events and explanations of the past few days. "There was the explosion, and _two_ Dragons appeared, which then flew into the Forest, which Harry and Hermione emerged from after several hours... I can barely believe it, but do you think..." Her voice faded into silence as she looked at her two friends. Nodding towards Dumbledore and Snape, she received shaken heads in return. At least they agreed that the Headmaster and Potions Professor should not be told... at least for now.

* * *

The gathered students standing outside Myrtle's bathroom waited impatiently, until Hermione, looking a bit dishevelled and with soot covering one cheek, opened the door and waved them in. "Come on, we have to hurry, Filch is coming this way."

The announcement puzzled everyone other than Fred and George, even when they saw Harry holding the Marauder's Map, until it was explained to them. As they approached, he directed his attention towards a particular sink and hissed something incomprehensible at it. Hermione translated for them. "He's just opening the entrance," she said. "We'd have brought you in sooner, but we wanted to tidy up first. There were all sorts of things lying around down there." Like a dead basilisk, she finished silently. Dragon or not, that huge carcass had given her the willies until she and Harry had gotten hungry. Roast snake wasn't shark, but it was still meat. At least there was only one thing that could poison a dragon. Once everyone was down the shaft, a journey that some enjoyed, but others didn't (Luna had fun 'surfing' down the shaft, maintaining her balance all the way, but Neville hated it), they moved forwards to a point where the rock walls, were extremely smooth, and still warm to the touch. "This is where Lockhart tried hexing us with Ron's wand and got returned to a mental age of six," Harry said playing tour guide. "And here we have the entrance to the infamous Chamber of Secrets, a room that as far as Hogwarts... and the Marauder's Map... does not exist..." Here he waved at the immense metal door and snakes that guarded the entry. Hermione stepped forwards and hissed, this time, and the others froze.

"H-Hermione," Neville asked nervously, "h-how long have you b-been a Parselmouth? I know it's an inherited trait, but I... I'd like to know how you hid it... please?" As the door ground open, Hermione huffed at him.

"I'll explain inside Neville, but I've only been a Parselmouth for about a week. It's not just my story to tell."

Harry and Hermione had done an amazing job cleaning the Chamber. There is little in the way of grime and dirt that can withstand copious quantities of dragonfire. The pool in front of what had been Salazar Slytherin's statue was clean, the moss and algae having been burned away, and the statue itself had been broken up and removed. There was a new tunnel that led away from the Chamber at an upward angle, with a makeshift sign propped up at the entrance that announced: "Weyr under construction. Beware of hot stone."

"We'll be remodelling this place for a while, and we don't have any furniture yet," Harry said as he moved out into the main area of the Chamber. Hermione wasn't far behind, although she did suggest they transfigure or conjure some cushions. She also handed them sheets of parchment with the oath she wanted them to take. While they looked the parchments over, she stepped to Harry's side and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before moving away.

Neville looked at the words before him, testing them for loopholes the way his Gran had taught him. Then he stood and made his oath: "I, Neville Franklin Longbottom, Scion and Heir to the Noble House of Longbottom, do hereby pledge to keep those secrets that are revealed to me this day by Harry James Potter and Hermione Jane Granger until and unless they give me leave otherwise, to guard said secrets from those who would harm them. As I have pledged, so mote it be."

The others followed suit, one by one, swearing much as Neville had, and once they had completed the oath-taking, they sat among the cushions that they had transfigured. Nodding, Hermione led the way.

"You see, there have been some... changes in Harry and me," she said, striving to find the right words. "Daphne, you remember the Rite I got you girls to help me set up?" When the raven-haired Slytherin nodded, the brunette went on. "It was designed to bind two people, to link them in magic, mind and soul, to make them equals and share each other's power and abilities..."

Fred and George interrupted her. "That's why you can speak Parseltongue," they blurted as one. Hermione nodded and continued.

"Yes, and if Harry and I focus, we can tell where the other half of our bond is," she told them. "But the ritual also unlocks any dormant powers in our heritage, and increases our magical cores. In my case, that was rather important."

Harry took over. "Part of my heritage is as one of the Ancient and Noble Houses. I didn't know this until the day of the ritual, but apparently, the Potters were the Hunters of Ancient Days." This drew speculative looks from Susan and Daphne, and an interested "oo-ooh" from Luna. "Apparently, this gives us unique advantages in the fields of warding and tracking magic. Yet even that heritage was apparently too 'normal' for me."

Again, Hermione took a turn to speak. "But Harry wasn't the only one with an unknown legacy," she said, quietly. "If you remember, there were two Dragons that haven't been seen in four centuries that appeared after the Astronomy Tower exploded. Welsh Reds, the Great Dragon cousins to the modern Welsh Greens. They then flew off into the Forbidden Forest, and we showed up from within the Forest with a _really_ thin story."

As the news they were hinting at began to dawn on their friends, Hermione nodded. "I get this from my Mum's side of the family, and Harry got it through that ritual, but..." She looked up at Harry and they spoke in unison as they discarded their human forms and revealed their true natures.

"We _are_ those two Dragons."

* * *

Snape was watching as the handlers prepared the lesser dragons to be moved back to the Romanian reserve. He had wondered if anyone would notice the manipulations he'd set in motion to get the vicious Horntail brought in, once he'd discovered the Tournament would take place. After all, the Welsh reserves were much nearer, and could have supplied the drakes just as easily. But one puppet suggesting they should avoid any 'favouritism' by getting the creatures from a neutral site... And then Potter manages the impossible again. "_Still,_" he mused as he watched an owl swoop in with a familiar looking package that he'd sent out a few days ago, delivering it to a pawn that thought he was a knight, "_There's no way he'll be able to manage the next task, and that should kill him._" Even if it would take until after New Years for the scent of these Nesting mothers to clear, he would find that mated pair of dragonlings and destroy them. Then he'd turn the foreign wyrms against each other, and claim his domain...

* * *

In a run-down manor house in the village of Little Hangleton, the Dark Lord reviewed the report he'd received from his agent. It had to be drastic for him to risk breaking his cover like this, as he knew what penalties awaited failure. But this information was important, and the agent recognised that it was not his place to make the decision. Looking down at the fragile homunculus that he wore, the one who termed himself Voldemort laughed... definitely not a giggle, unless you wanted to eat a Cruciatus... and rubbed his hands together. Potter was looking like a better and better candidate for his awakening after all.

"Wormtail!" he... it shouted. "Prepare some parchment, my agent needs instructions..."


	10. Chapter 10

**On Crimson Wings.**

**Part 1 of The Heart of the Dragon.**

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Harry Potter, the world or the characters. They belong to J. , with gratitude for letting us play with them. The challenge comes from GoldenSteel, with gratitude for the ideas. The only thing I could lay claim to are the story and plotline, but that just seems greedy..._

Draconic Communication is indicated this way: ¤_**I'm a Dragon, too!**_¤

**Chapter 10: Questions Need Answers.**

Ludo Bagman's announcement the next evening was not good news, as far as Harry could tell. The recap of scores and placing was tedious, and by singling out the Champions (Hermione had pointed out that for an event that was supposed to promote _friendship_, they certainly had the Champions isolated from each other, one at each House table), he seemed to be promoting the idea of competition over co-operation. Harry tapped his chin thoughtfully as his mate nibbled her bottom lip.

"The golden eggs you have each recovered," the former sports-wizard pontificated, "are your clues, providing a warning about the next task. This task shall be taking place on February twenty-fourth. Good luck!"

Harry tuned out the rest of the speeches, instead gazing at Hermione. She'd taken advantage of their new-found ability to shape-shift to... adjust the size of her front teeth. It didn't make any difference as far as he was concerned. She'd always been beautiful, now she was just adding a little bit of pretty to the mix. As they rose and headed off to today's classes, he wondered about how to make their 'mating night' special. He could throw a party? Hmm...

* * *

The Crimson couple seemed a little uneasy in Potions that day. There was a strange smell, and it wasn't coming from the admittedly pungent ingredients Snape had them working with. It was a subtle scent, and it felt as though someone had gone to great lengths to conceal it. The mixture of mud, clay and rotting vegetation mixed with the brewing regurgative draught (even brewing the potion sometimes rendered it unnecessary) to create an odour that quite turned their stomachs. Snape was staring at each member of the class in turn as he spoke.

"I am aware that this potion is not usually taught until later in the year. Today, I was going to teach you to brew the polyjuice potion, but alas, it seems that _someone_" here he glared at Harry and Hermione, "has pilfered my stores of the necessary ingredients, so we shall have to make do."

As he passed, Harry caught a whiff of his scent, all the smells of before, with a faint acrid tang that he couldn't place, but was familiar... Shaking his head, he returned to his potion, even as Malfoy and Weasley glared in his direction.

* * *

Transfiguration came easily today. At first, he felt terrible, as he strained to focus his spell on the dove he was supposed to turn into a decanter. His first few tries, much as Hermione's, were abysmal. This was one of their better classes, and it felt awful to have this much trouble. He was about to try again, when he recalled some of the advice and techniques that Bryn had bestowed on them. On the spur of the moment, although he kept the wand in hand, he decided to remove it from the casting. His dove turned into a beautiful crystal decanter, an ornate bottle that sparkled as the light hit it. He quickly whispered his breakthrough to his mate. "Just forget the wand, like Bryn said."

Seconds later, Hermione also had a perfect decanter. Having earned ten points apiece for their House, they were permitted to read ahead, studying the next transfiguration they would be attempting. Professor McGonagall insisted that they had to know both what they were changing, and what they were changing it into. As the bells sounded to end school for the day, the teacher rose from her chair.

"Mister Potter, could I have a word with you now, please?" she 'asked', in a tone that said it was _not_ a request. Hermione caught his eye, and he shook his head, waving her on. In return, she tapped her wrist twice. She would wait ten minutes, then.

Once all the students had left, save Harry of course, the Transfiguration teacher spoke. "Harry, there are many recent changes that have come to my notice," she started. "Many of which we can talk about later. More than a few of these include your attitude towards Miss Granger, and it occurs to me to ask if you have been told about... that realm of human interaction called love." A very embarrassed Harry, blushing madly, nodded.

"Mr Granger was kind enough to fill me in," he replied in what might well have been a nervous squeak. Of course he was too manly to admit it... who was he kidding, Hermione had heard it for sure. "It...wasn't a comfortable discussion, particularly with his 'father's prerogative' tacked on at the end. More of a... 'here's what to do... now _don't_' speech."

Minerva barely suppressed a laugh. "Very well, since we are both spared _that_ conversation, there is something I need to discuss with you," she replied, having managed to maintain a straight face. "It is traditional, as part of the Tournament, to hold a Yule Ball, which will require dancing. Specifically you, as one of the Champions, must open the ball with a dance."

Harry froze. "Dance?" he squeaked. There was no way he'd bother denying that. "With a girl? Like a date?" His answers amused his teacher, even as the feline animagus nodded to each.

"Indeed Mister Potter, so I'd advise you to hurry up if you have someone in mind to take," she said. "If you don't, someone else may try to snatch her away from you. That will be all. Good luck." She ushered the dumbstruck dragon from her classroom, and placed silencing charms before finally giving in to the urge to laugh at the look on his face.

* * *

Hermione's ten minute wait was not uneventful, as no sooner had she leaned against the corridor wall to wait, than she was approached by a young man in a Durmstrang uniform. It was that Quidditch player, a seeker like Harry, but not as good... what was his name? Something unpleasant, Kreep, Skum... no, wait, Krum... Viktor Krum. "_Now what can _he_possibly want?_"

"Excuse me," he said in a thick Eastern European accent, somewhere between German and Russian, "but I am Viktor Krum. I voz vundering vy such a petal as you is alone, here. I haf seen you in the library, as I go there to escape from the wild mobs of fans." He paused as though an idea had just occurred to him. "There is a ball this Yule, perhaps..."

Hermione cut him off. Obviously her reaction was not what he was looking for. "A Yule Ball, how wonderful," she sighed. "I'll bet my..." she decided that subtlety would be lost on this man, and upped the stakes. "...fiancé is going to try and surprise me when he asks me, and now you've spoiled it... I could pretend, but we're so close we can see right through each other... Still, I thank you for warning me, this means I can get my Mum to help me find a dress, and there's so much to do to prepare. Oh, here he comes now..."

Indeed, Harry opened the door as Professor McGonagall nearly shoved him through it, and saw Hermione next to Viktor Krum. His attention had not been focused on the corridor, instead being on the discussion with the Transfiguration teacher, so he didn't know what was going on, but by the way his bushy-haired she-dragon was beaming, and the glare on Krum's face, he didn't have much trouble guessing. In some other life, where he hadn't managed to gather up the courage to tell her how he felt, perhaps the Bulgarian would have taken her to the Ball, but in this lifetime, Harry wouldn't let that happen. It was too soon after receiving notice for him to manage anything smooth, but he was still going to do this.

"Hey, Mine," he said, as he hugged her tight, planting a quick peck on her forehead. Nuzzling against her cheek was his first impulse, but that seemed a little... personal for a Hogwarts corridor. "You'll never guess what Professor McGonagall just told me."

"There's a Yule Ball, so find your date fast?" she answered, smiling while she tested Harry's nickname for her inside her mind. Mine. Mine. She could live with it, so he got to. Anyone else might be in trouble though.

"Oh, drat, somebody told you," Harry pouted. "Still, have to be sure. Hermione, I'm already the luckiest man alive with you as my beloved... fiancée," he continued responding to her nearly inaudible prompting, "would you make me even happier by accompanying me to the Yule Ball?"

Hermione dragged her mate down for a sizzling kiss, losing herself to it, and very nearly forgetting Krum's presence. When they broke for air, they grinned.

"I take it that's a yes?" Harry asked.

"Of course it's a yes," Hermione answered him. Turning her head, she spoke to the slightly jealous Quidditch star. "I'm sorry," she said as if she'd just remembered something. "You were about to say something, and I cut you off, what was it?"

"It is of no matter," Viktor replied, recovering his composure. "Now I owe Kolya five Galleons. He said you vere not for such as me." With a smile that didn't reach his eyes, he turned and was about to leave.

"Wait a moment, Viktor," Harry said. "You were about to ask my intended to the Ball, yes?" Reluctantly, the Bulgarian nodded. "Why?"

"Because... she is beautiful to those who vish to look for it, and she does not care for fame... mine or yours, it appears, and because I vould enjoy to haf a good discussion vare I might learn something more than my own Quidditch statistics."

Harry grinned. "A friend of ours is... between boyfriends, and would probably be able to give you such discussions, she's pretty clever, and she's a chaser for our House team, so she knows the strain of having to live for Quidditch."

"HA!" Viktor laughed, "I haf heard of your Oliver Wood, your Quidditch Captain, yes? He is well spoken of by graduates who haf made other teams, but also cursed for his training schedules. Very vell, I vill gif this a try." As they reached the Hall, Hermione and Harry pointed out Katie Bell to their new friend, and as he left, wished him luck.

"That was close," Hermione said, glad to have settled the matter without a fight or duel.

"Mm-hmm," Harry agreed. "Now I've only got two problems."

Turning to meet her mate's eyes, Hermione saw humour and worry, an odd combination. "And those are?"

"First I have to find a corsage that does you justice," Harry said. "And then there's the big one. I have no idea how to dance."

* * *

As it turned out, there was no need to worry on that account, as Professor McGonagall took some time to schedule dancing lessons for the students. Professor Flitwick provided the music by charming an old phonograph to play music for the types of dance they required. With Harry holding Hermione close, they used their new senses to _feel_ the mood of the music, to tell where they were about to set their feet. With their link, they knew each move the other was about to make, and quickly became proficient in the art. They were not the best, but they were miles ahead of where anyone had thought they would be... but only with each other. Anyone else was in danger of having their feet stepped on, girls who tried dancing with Harry, or boys attempting the same with Hermione, were often the target of glares and subtle snarls... even those among their friends who danced with them couldn't help being aware of the... distractedness of their partner.

As it turned out, Katie accepted Viktor's invitation to the Ball, and was quietly happy. "At least he'll be able to relax," she told Hermione and Parvati. "It's such a shame that he has to keep hiding from fans all over the castle. So I decided I'm not going to bring up Quidditch unless and until he does." As the other two applauded this idea, Katie felt vindicated by her decision.

Neville had asked Hannah, and Fred and George were taking the other Gryffindor chasers. Susan was going with Justin Finch-Fletchley, who had quietly put up with Malfoy nicknaming him 'Flinchley' for years. "Just because he's not smart enough to speak my full name, I should blow my top?" was how he'd put it when asked by Harry and Neville. Daphne had been invited by Blaise Zabini, a... neutral Slytherin. He was the sort who reserved judgement in every situation until he had all the facts, and quietly supported his chosen cause, but he was _very_ polite. Astoria and Luna weren't old enough to come on their own, and weren't lucky enough to be invited by anyone they cared to dance with. Padma and Parvati were invited by a dashing pair of roguish twins from Beauxbatons by the names of Adler and Leon duGuerre, an irony since Leon was Padma's date and Adler Parvati's.

Cedric Diggory had found a good friend in the French Champion, but it was hard to get through her self-imposed shell. She was convinced her allure and her tenuous control over it would destroy the friendship completely. When his girlfriend Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw seeker, found out about his new friend, she dropped an ultimatum on him, one that would ironically prove to the veela girl that he was serious about his friendship.

"Either she goes or I do, Cedric," the comely Chinese girl demanded. Cedric looked over the girl he might have grown to love, who was obviously possessive and selfish, somewhat shallow, and, if what he'd overheard from some of the other 'claws was true, a bit of a bully, and then over at the lonely French girl, too proud to admit her loneliness, unwilling to let anyone see her cry when she was hurt to the heart. The choice was obvious.

"Alright. Bye, Cho." He turned to the silver-blonde witch from across the channel. "Miss Delacour, by some strange set of circumstances, it seems I have no-one to go to the Ball with. Would you be willing to help me out by accompanying me?"

Fleur's delighted acceptance was quickly the hottest school gossip in years.

* * *

Ron Weasley had embarrassed himself by stumbling up to Fleur, babbling out an incoherent string of words, and running before she could turn him down politely. He then compounded his problem in the Gryffindor common room.

"Hermione, you're a girl," he realised loudly. "I can take you to the Ball!"

"No, Weasley," she said, rolling her eyes, "you can't."

"What?" He couldn't believe his ears. He'd keyed the potions and slipped them into Harry and Hermione's drinks... well, Ginny had, after he'd followed his instructions from home and dosed her with one keyed to Harry. She shouldn't be refusing him... "Why not?"

"I'm already going with Harry, of course." Hermione stood and glared at him, letting a tiny bit of dragonfear slip through, just enough to have the redhead nervous. "And even if I _hadn't _smelled sulphur, sea salt and old books in my drink, I'd still be going with Harry. We're _bound_, Weasley. It's not something love potions can smother. It's not something apathy draughts can suppress. And thanks to the fact that you tried to dose the Head of an Ancient and Noble House, I don't think you have to worry about going to the Ball."

"Huh?" Ron was really having trouble keeping up. "What Head?"

Harry answered him. "That would be me, Weasley. Ancient and Noble House of Potter, present and accounted for." He waved his hand at the ginger's sister. "I find it interesting that not only our drinks have that set of odours about them. I think we'll have to take her down to Madam Pomfrey to see what we can see." He too allowed a trickle of the dragonfear to break loose, nudging Ron to very bad decision.

Already panicking at being found out, and facing some very hard questions just for dosing _Harry_, adding Hermione and Ginny to the mix was setting him up for some very bad consequences. The damage wouldn't stop with him, either, as his potion grades were abysmal, so anyone who looked _once_ at them would know he hadn't brewed them, and that would drag in his Mum, and maybe his Dad, and could tear his family apart... With cold sweat breaking out all over his body, he did something no-one had predicted, pulling his wand, pointing it at Hermione and screaming "Reducto!"

They saw the spell fly across the common room, and for Harry and Hermione, time seemed to slow. He was in motion, but wouldn't make it in time. She could dodge it, but then it would sail past her into the crowd of Gryffindors who'd gathered to watch the show. She raised her hand, agonizingly slowly to her, and cried out an incantation of her own.

"_Capere Incantatum!_"

Time resumed its stately march, as everyone watched as Hermione Granger reached up and caught Ron Weasley's hastily cast spell in the palm of her hand, holding the incipient orange explosion in a web of crimson chains, something even the seventh years were amazed at. Harry recognised the spell as one from his family's grimoires, which he'd been studying when he had a spare moment in secret. Apparently their minds were_ deeply_ linked, and desperation had brought this spell to his mate's mind when she needed it. With her safe, he changed his trajectory just a little, driving his shoulder into his former friend's chest, hearing a rib or two pop, and snatching the wand from his hand. Standing, he pointed his hand at Ron and hit him with a wandless stunning jinx. Levitating him, he and Hermione began to drag him down to the hospital wing, taking just enough time to lure Ginny into following.

* * *

Madam Pomfrey was livid, and once she'd sent off word to the DMLE, along with the evidence she'd finally been able to collect, she sent her Patronus (a dove, naturally) to let the Deputy Headmistress know. She was with Minerva and Filius on this one. Albus, although he was a great man once, was no longer reliable. Snape was incredibly biased against anyone who wasn't Slytherin, and yet Dumbledore let him run rampant, with massive point deductions. The only time he'd done anything to counter the unchecked favouritism was three years ago, and he'd done nothing since. The school was becoming less and less safe, and no-one was in a position to do anything... and the Headmaster seemed to be losing his marbles. Perhaps it was the stress from his other positions, but Albus was, as Septima Vector, the Arithmancy teacher, had once put it, no longer in a one-to-one contact with reality. But people had been overlooking it because he was Dumbledore, Hero of the Wizarding World War and vanquisher of Grindelwald.

But this was something she was refusing to overlook for anyone. This was Amortentia, the most potent 'love' potion around, and a severely restricted substance. There were next to no legal uses for it, save under certain contract that had to be agreed to by _all_ parties involved. It was certain that young Mister Potter had not agreed, and nor had Miss Granger. While she was not quite coherent yet, from the horrified looks she was giving those around her, it seemed that Miss Weasley hadn't either.

Minerva arrived escorting Amelia Bones, the current Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She had been a top Auror as little as a year ago, and had been fast-tracked to her current position after her predecessor's resignation over the Sirius Black debacle. She was reputed to be a hard taskmaster, but fair and incorruptible. She was also _not_ Minister Fudge's favourite person. The Wizengamot was such a balancing act...

"Mister Potter brought this to my attention a month ago, with Miss Granger the sole victim at that time. Now we have three victims and an instigator, but one who is unable to create the potions required. If these apathy draughts hadn't been perfectly balanced, they would have concocted a rather nasty poison. As for the Amortentia, a lot of our seventh years and past graduates couldn't make it." The mediwitch was quite incensed, her audience noted, including the two she thought were busy helping poor Miss Weasley. The teachers had no idea how good the Crimson Couple's hearing had become. The truly regrettable thing is that Albus would sweep it all under a rug to avoid confrontations. Whatever happened to the wizard who championed Muggles and Muggle-born?"

"One compromise too many?" suggested Madam Bones. "Politics is a slippery slope, and it has happened before that a man defeats a monster, only to fall. So what are we going to do about this. Attempted Line Theft is a serious matter, as is Mister Weasley's attack on Miss Granger. With an Ancient and Noble involved, it gets worse."

Minerva was about to throw her two knuts' worth into the conversation when they were interrupted by Harry. "Excuse me, Professor, Madam Pomfrey, Madam Bones, but from what I've read recently, it's not that simple," he announced. "There's a few things I've been keeping under wraps, so to speak, because I didn't want any more attention, but if they can help us resolve this, I don't mind telling you." he glanced over his shoulder, receiving a nod from his mate where she sat holding a basin and vanishing Ginny's wastes. Turning back to the adults, he raised his right hand, fingers upwards, with the back towards them so they could see his signet. "I'm also the Duke of Slytherin, confirmed by right of conquest, and the Hunter of Ancient Days. I'm not fully familiar with the protocols for it, but if it can help..."

Amelia Bones was staggered. Having married into the Ancient and Noble House of Bones, she'd learned of many secrets, but their status as the Reeve of Ancient Days had been a surprise. More so that said Reeve was her niece, Susan, after her parents were killed by stragglers in the last Blood War, because as one who married into the line, she herself could not hold it. She did stand regent on the Head of the House title, but was there more than just that? Gathering herself, while Minerva and Poppy were both still goggling at Harry's revelation, as much that he knew it as that he was, she spoke firmly.

"That may actually help," she said. "The four Duchies of Magical Britain answer directly to the Throne, not the Ministry, and we could side-step a lot of red tape. We can't just judge and sentence him, but on your authority we can bring in both him and his family for investigation discreetly, call it 'helping us with enquiries', and find out exactly who's guilty in this. I'd hate to think Arthur had a hand in this."

"Then consider it authorised," Harry said, "and I'll sign the necessary paperwork."

Amelia stared at the boy. "How'd you know about that?" she asked.

Harry snorted as he returned to Hermione's side and continued helping Ginny. "Please, it's a branch of the British Government. Of course there was going to be paperwork."

* * *

*Author's Note: The spell Hermione uses to catch Ron's "Reducto" is translated roughly as "Capture the spell".


	11. Chapter 11

**On Crimson Wings.**

**Part 1 of The Heart of the Dragon.**

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Harry Potter, the world or the characters. They belong to J. , with gratitude for letting us play with them. The challenge comes from GoldenSteel, with gratitude for the ideas. The only thing I could lay claim to are the story and plotline, but that just seems greedy..._

Draconic Communication is indicated this way: ¤_**I'm a Dragon, too!**_¤

**Chapter 11: Dancing with Dragons.**

Harry stood at the base of the grand staircase,waiting patiently for his mate. Most of his friends had already arrived, sweeping past him into the company (and in Hannah and Neville's case at least, arms) of their escort. Each girl wore a beautiful gown, and although he complimented them as they passed, they could tell his attention was elsewhere, seeking a certain bushy-haired witch-Dragon.

The Grangers had apparently reacted well to the news of the Yule Ball, and that the younger Dragons would be a few days late arriving in London, and Emily had insisted on dealing with Hermione's gown. Harry had gone into one of his two packages and found what would best be called formal dragonhide. It was made of Antipodean Opal-eye hide, crafted into dress robes, and displayed his physique to advantage. The deep, dark red shade, almost mahogany, complemented his eyes.

Susan appeared at the head of the stairs, as beautiful as the others, clad in a black gown with golden trim and embroidery. She descended and was met by her date, the Durmstrang Headmaster's nephew, Nikolai. The Crimean Black. "Call me Kolya," the other wyrm had insisted when he'd been introduced. "I am here seeking a... bride. Maybe I will find her, maybe not, and Miss Bones has graciously deigned that I might keep her company at this ball."

Parsing his words, Harry had made note of Kolya's specifying where he was keeping his friend's company, and smiled. "Dance well, make her happy, and everything's fine," he said. "Make her unhappy..." he left the sentence there, allowing the foreign Dragon to fill in the blanks. Then Nikolai noticed that the trailing threat he'd assumed was not intentional, as Harry Potter's mate had just reached the top of the stairs.

Harry had seen many pretty girls tonight, and as many beautiful young women. Looking up at his beloved made him wish he had a dictionary at hand, that he might put her picture next to gorgeous, and magnificent and... Shaking himself a little, and seeing her smile, he stepped to the base of the stairs and offered his arm.

Hermione gazed down the stairs at her mate in his deep red robes. She'd wondered if her mother's gift, a marvellous gown made from her own shed hide and scales, was good enough for such an event, and her answer stood there staring at her as if the rest of the world had just... gone away. She'd never worn a dress like this before, and had been unsure. The bodice was actually part of a supple corset, though not one intended to confine and restrict as the old Victorian-era fashions were wont to do, and the skirts were a long fall of flexible leather in the bright scarlet of her mother's scales, indeed, one such scale secured them at her right hip, at the knot of a golden silk sash. There was also a cloak of sorts, of the same scarlet leather, that secured in a badge with House Potter's crest in such a manner as to leave her shoulders bare, without threatening to fall off at the slightest opportunity.

As the band struck up the first dance, the four Champions, in three couples, made their way onto the floor. As the dancing began, Harry and Hermione lost themselves in each other's eyes, and danced an eternity away.

* * *

Professor McGonagall stood guard over the punch-bowl, keeping the Weasley twins from spiking it... she hoped. As she watched her star students swirl past in the elegant moves she had taught them, she sighed. It was such a beautiful scene, the two young lovers with no eyes for aught but each other, and deeply touched her emotional Scots nature. His parents had danced like that once, at a Ministry sponsored ball that had been broken up by a Death Eater raid that, had the musicians kept playing, she was entirely certain Lily and James would not have noticed.

Still, beautiful sight or otherwise, Mister Potter, and Miss Granger for that matter, were acting differently. Their magic had... shifted, and grown so much more potent, and all the rituals _she_ knew of that might do such a thing were very Dark magic indeed. As she had kept a discrete eye out, Filius had both researched other explanations, and quietly sounded out Pomona Sprout on Dumbledore's... reliability, or more accurately, lack of same. The Head of Hufflepuff and Herbology Mistress was often underestimated.

"Yes," she'd told them. "I've noticed something similar myself, and I've been keeping an eye on my little badgers because of it." Her eyes focused on her two unofficial favourites, Hannah and Susan, sweeping past in their dance partners' arms. "Burying the rivalry between Lions and Snakes would be one thing, but what's going on is blatant favouritism. The Slytherins are getting off scot free while the Gryffindors are lumped with harsher punishments than they should be, even when they are in the wrong. If you need help to set it right, I'm in." Upon being presented with the suspicions that Minerva, poppy and Filius carried about the two dragons, and what had somehow happened to Harry and Hermione, the Hard-working witch looked thoughtful.

"They have more power, tempers, and are a mite more territorial," she'd concurred. "On top of that, Hagrid has said they've been having trouble in Care of Magical Creatures, even the Skrewts seem scared of them, and cranky about it. But what I'm seeing isn't the problem. What worries me is, where is the Ministry's response to those two Welsh Reds?"

Minerva blinked. It hadn't even occurred to her to wonder about that. Now that she thought of it, Pomona was right. There was no way the Ministry would let this pass, and if they knew, which given the presence of Bagman and Crouch, was likely, unless someone could keep them quiet about it, there should be a squad of Hit-wizards and aurors standing guard or hunting the wyrms. Instead, there was nothing above and beyond what you would find at a school.

Pomona didn't leave it there, of course. Now from what you've said, those two cubs of yours are really the Welsh Reds we saw that night, and you're worried you'll have to fight them. So rather than worry, why don't we ask an expert?" Turning to where the immense form of Hagrid was dancing with the equally large Madam Maxime, they set forth to learn about Dragons...

* * *

As they spun and twirled in time with the music, Harry and Hermione quite lost track of what was going on around them. When the music finally drew to a close so that the next dance could begin, they started, jolted from their private eternity by harsh reality... that couldn't possibly be _that _harsh, as they were here together. Looking around, they gravitated towards the punch-bowl, fairly sure that the Weasley twins had spiked it with some concoction or other of theirs. A subtle sniff here told them that despite the Deputy Headmistress' vigilance, they'd been right. As they reached for glasses to get themselves drinks, they heard a most unwelcome voice.

"I see you're as bad as ever, Scarhead," sneered Draco Malfoy, ignoring his date's feverish attempts to shut him up. Pansy, finding her efforts in vain, dropped his arm and backed away, glancing at Malfoy's two bodyguards. The looks of stubborn determination on their faces told her she'd be wasting her time, so she walked away. "A fake ring and a two-knut Mud-blood, you must be getting close to the bottom by now. At least she's dressed in the right colour, and cleans up nice..."

Hermione saw her mate's knuckles whiten, and could feel his thoughts. "_Must not kill Draco, must not kill Draco, must not kill Draco,_" repeated over and over as he tried to gain a semblance of control. They both knew Snape was nearby, hovering, waiting for something he could point at as justification for detentions and trouble. There were no others nearby, save Dumbledore, who would quite likely let his _trusted_ teacher run rough-shod all over them. Draco's next words would more than likely snap Harry's fragile control...

She almost couldn't believe it when she heard her own voice saying the words. "You can hurt him a little though, Harry," she announced, "I want to go for a walk, and the sooner we deal with him, the sooner we can go."

Harry stared at her for a few moments, then grinned. "Why thank you, my love," he said with sincerity, and turned to the Malfoy heir. Hermione's words had shocked his mind into calming down. The way everything worked in this world, Draco's little scheme relied heavily on Harry not knowing the rules of his heritage. Thanks to Fangblade and the goblins (for a fee, of course), Harry had been eradicating that ignorance piece by piece. Too bad.

"Draco Abraxus Malfoy, Scion of House Malfoy, I find your words to my affianced offensive, your manners lacking, and your face more appropriate to the south end of a north-bound goat." Shocked silence hit the Hall as all motion halted and all eyes came to bear on the Crimson Couple and the Slytherin trio. "Standing as the Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter, I, Harry James Potter, declare you craven and coward. You run around like a little dog, yapping at anyone you see, to convince yourself that you are better. You are pale, pathetic, and I will waste no more time on a jealous little boy." With that, he turned his back on Draco, who in this setting could either swallow the insult (but that would have been _intelligent_) or challenge Harry to a duel... where Harry got to choose the method of resolution.

"Diffindo!" Or he could be abysmally stupid and attack while Harry's back was turned.

"Capere Incantatum!" Much as Hermione had done with Ron's magic when he tried to curse her, Harry caught Draco's spell in a web of crimson chains, providing himself with evidence against the shame of Slytherin (not so much for the attempt as for the failure) that couldn't be denied, but it meant little if the Malfoy scion had time to clear his wand...

Even as the shocked Draco began to stutter the incantation to another spell, Harry held out his left hand (his right being busy holding the blond's first spell, and cried "Expelliarmus!"

As Draco's wand left his hand and sailed towards Harry's, Snape stepped forward and grabbed the brat's right hand, intent on disposing of the spell he was holding in that odd-looking stasis that he recalled from the few times James Potter had used it. Unfortunately, this brought him in contact with Harry's signet, and with the loud snap! of an electrical discharge, the greasy-haired Potions master was hurled backwards, struggling to his feet he found his way to Harry blocked by Flitwick, who despite, or perhaps because of, his small stature, was one of the most formidable duellists he'd ever met. He was left with no recourse as McGonagall stepped forward to take charge, and glanced toward the Headmaster... who had a lemon drop in each cheek and a happily blitzed expression on his face. No help there...

"Craven, coward _and_ honourless!" Harry was yelling at Draco. "For your assault, I request restitution, or retribution. Your call." While the last words weren't, strictly speaking, part of the protocols, no-one called him on it.

"MISTER POTTER!" McGonagall called, to get his attention. Although she had seen everything, she had to follow certain guidelines, or this problem would vanish under the rug. "What is going on?"

"Hermione was insulted by Draco, so I called him on it," he said. "By the protocols I used, he could either swallow it and walk, or challenge me to a duel. Instead, he tried to curse me from behind. The Head of an Ancient and Noble, who'd just informed of that fact. Then... _Professor_ Snape stepped in and grabbed my hand as I was defending myself, and found that he shouldn't lay his hands on one who holds more power over his House than he does."

"Impossible," sneered the disguised Grey, "I am in charge of Slytherin House, Potter, not some jumped-up half-blood with delusions of grandeur. It is my place to dictate the punishments for your accusations."

"Severus. Hush." Professor McGonagall was abrupt. "You can be over-ridden by three people, all of whom are in this room. As the Deputy to the Headmaster, I can negate or reverse your choices, but as Headmaster, Albus is one step above me."

Before Snape could get too full of himself, and even as he drew breath to rant at, and deliver a punishment to, Harry, she continued. "Fortunately, not even Albus can over-ride the judgement of His Grace, the heir to one of the Founders, the Duke of Slytherin."

As the Potions teacher leaned in to examine the ring Harry displayed to him, which he was not happy to recognise as authentic, his nostrils flared, and he caught the scent of sulphur, sea salt and broomstick polish, overlaying the basic scent of... a Great Dragon...

Straightening he glared at Potter. It was impossible. The Potters had no wyrms in their ancestry, let alone the Welsh Reds, and Lily Evans had been part of a very muggle family with no draconic blood as well. Surreptitious sniffing again, he caught the Granger chit's scent... another one! The female! This was bad... if they discovered him, he could be in big trouble. Even half-grown they were twice his size, _and_ they could wield magic... Potter hadn't even drawn his wand... and to top it all off, they were mated, if not fully yet, a matter of time... all his effort to get certain laws repealed as unnecessary through Dumbledore as the Chief Warlock would now go to helping Potter and Granger, and because their scents were stronger here, a result of his little 'chess-games' and keeping a low profile, they could, and most likely had, claimed domain.

With the other wyrms here, it would not be wise to set out into open provocation and manipulation, even were it not for a vast discrepancy: They breathed fire, while he could only spit venom... that they were immune to... It was as if someone had stepped up, scattered his game of chess, and proceeded to lay down some vast and complicated game that moved pieces that weren't people assigned ranks based on how they acted, but miniature versions of the real thing with rules crafted to represent their traits, rather than shoe-horning them into a limited set of powers... like in chess...

Muttering under his breath, not even bothering to appeal to the Headmaster, Severus Snape retreated from the Hall.

* * *

Once Draco, his wand and frozen spell turned over to the Deputy Headmistress, was led from the Great Hall, and as McGonagall called for the band to strike up the music once more, Harry took Hermione's hand in his own and led the way into the gardens. As they wandered through the hedges and beds, he kept a careful ear and eye out for others. As Hermione was about to speak, they reached a secluded area, and he halted her questions before they got going with a kiss. "Mine," he whispered against her ear, a delicious buzz that did wonderful things to her insides. "It's time."

As the two of them shed their human forms, they nuzzled their cheeks and horns together. As their scales poured over their bodies, they tasted the fire in each other's eyes. As their tails sprang from the confinement of their human shapes, they twined them together, spread their wings and launched into the sky.

Watching them go, unobserved under a paranoid number of concealing, silencing and odourless charms, Voldemort's agent gasped. This was something his master had to know at once...

As the Dragons soared, higher and higher, they were displayed against the moon, and a large black dog paused in his journey, so near its end, and shivered. As they came together in flight, they called to each other, and the music far below ceased, even as Dragon's song, rarer by far than that of a phoenix, echoed across the valley. As they met in love, coming together in the most intimate of ways, sheathing him in her, they plunged through the clouds, and all the people below saw them, sated, parting mere feet from the lake's surface, and gaining altitude in a spiralling dance, come together again. This time, as they fell towards the lake, two sets of wings spread as one and they raced towards the castle... and vanished...

* * *

No-one could find Harry or Hermione that night, not even Fred and George, who took advantage of their access to Harry's trunk to snatch a look at the Marauder's Map, before sealing it back up again. It wasn't too hard for them to figure out where the two young Dragons would be, but none of them wanted to go after them, and even more, none of them could. Getting into the Chamber took a Parselmouth, and Harry and Hermione were the only such at Hogwarts. They must have finished the opening into their weyr, and warded it well. The Ball had been a roaring success, with all who attended having a grand time, and it was the start of more than a few new relationships.

* * *

Dumbledore stared at the list of those remaining for the Yule holidays. This was his third time through, and he still couldn't find where Harry had hidden his name. He was thinking about signing this for him, but he only had an hour, and while Harry's scrawl was barely legible at times, it was also highly difficult to forge... drat it.

Snape sat staring at a chess board and tried to scheme. He kept running into a wall. If he moved a Knight, he had this image of Harry moving a group of Welsh archers in to pepper the piece with arrows. And what bothered him most was that he and Potter were using the same board to play entirely different games... and Potter was winning...

Voldemort's agent swallowed his latest dose of Polyjuice potion, picked up the letter he'd written, and prayed that the Dark Lord would forgive the manner he'd addressed it in. Bringing up the name 'Tom Riddle' almost always resulted in a dose of Cruciatus Curse...

Madam Pomfrey, Madam Bones, and the three remaining Heads of House sat together, staring down at the collected literature that Hagrid had recommended. It was quite the pile, consisting of no less than a dozen books, yet it was the one on top of the pile that held their interest most. _Scale and Sorcery: A guide to the Great Dragons_, by one Matthew George Potter, a distant ancestor of the very wizard they were concerned about. As the carriages rattled away to deliver the children to the Express, Minerva looked up at her friends. "I have come to a devastating conclusion..." she began.

* * *

As the train powered southwards, Hermione nuzzled into Harry's side, and focused on a book that Jin had given them. The Chinese wyrm had been at the Ball with Bryn as his escort, and the book, written in the draconic runes that looked like they were made by claws (probably not too far off, actually), was a primer of sorts to help them learn some games that were typically draconic. After all, Quidditch might be too dangerous for the other players if you were a multi-tonne apex predator. Harry was reading it as well, and the two were enduring some mild ribbing from their friends about their possible activities after they'd vanished.

Draco looked into their compartment through the door, but also looked down at the bracer that he'd had forced over his arm. Some auror was monitoring him with it, given legal excuse by the Slytherin's assault on 'His Grace' (not that Draco believed it for a moment) which mean that his father wouldn't be sharing any secrets with him this year. He glared through the glass in the door, but left before he could do anything his father might hear of.

Ron was absent, due to sitting in a Ministry holding cell, blaming his predicament on Potter and Granger. Ginny was on the train, but considerably nervous about going home. Her father had written to her, asking if she knew why her mother and brother were in adjacent cells at the Ministry. She'd asked Fred and George for advice, and wound up telling her dad that the problem wasn't something to put in a letter, and that she 'd be home soon, and he would get the full story then. "PS, Daddy," she'd finished the letter with, "you may want to have Bill and Charlie around when we do."

* * *

Kings' Cross Station was crowded as always, and it didn't make it easier to deal with for their heightened senses. The smells alone were overwhelming, and separating anything meaningful from the surrounding noise was nigh on impossible. Sight was the only sense the two young dragons could rely on, and the Grangers were waiting for them. It was the work of moments to locate them, and minutes to cross the floor to meet them. Outside the station proved much quieter, and the adults helped the teens load their trunks into the car.

"Thanks for this, Doctors Granger," said Harry. "I'm grateful that you're letting me stay at your place for now."

"Think nothing of it," Emily said as they settled into their seats for the drive home. "And I'm Emily, and He's David, or we'll have to call you Lord Potter or your Grace for the rest of the holidays."

The trip back through London's streets was uneventful, but Harry had never seen the area through which they now travelled, and had his eyes glued to the view, unabashedly gawking at the scenery. The he felt it, deep within him, a slight shudder, one that Hermione echoed. Their instincts were telling them they were in another's domain, and they both looked up at Emily Granger, smiling back at them.

"_That,_" she said, in the manner of a lecture, "is the feeling of another's domain. There is always a tension when you are outside your own, but that shudder is an awareness that where you are belongs to another. In this case, luckily, me. Although I wouldn't argue the point with lawyers."

Their meal that night was orca, and although it was good, it didn't have the same texture or sweet succulence as shark did. David stuck to sausages with mashed potato... the classic bangers-and-mash... rather than the exotic meats of his family.

"Alright you two, it's time to rest. Tomorrow we go to my weyr, and I start teaching you what I can," Emily ordered. "Of course, you'll have to show me what you've managed to piece together..."

* * *

Their lessons were oddly easy, and with the awareness that this was _not_ their domain, neither of the adolescent wyrms felt the urge to do more than snuggle and nuzzle. Of course, their most important lessons were what they were capable of.

"We are the Welsh Reds," Emily told them. "We are the symbol of the land, and the greatest of the Great Dragons. We are fire given form, and touch on each element in our own ways. We ride the wind, and feel it hold us firm as we fly. We lair in the earth, and craft our weyrs of stone. We seek our favoured food from the sea, and are sustained as easily by water as air. But most important, we are Fire. It's not just our breath, it's our nature, and it cannot harm us, any more than one fire can burn another. Some few of us can go beyond even that, and shape the fires to our will, summoning or banishing it at a whim... We are considered royalty by other Dragons, and there are those who believe we were the first of our kind."

They spent as much time learning of other wyrms as they did their own kind, and before they knew it, the New Year had passed, and they once more returned to Hogwarts, a little more aware of what they were.


	12. Chapter 12

**On Crimson Wings.**

**Part 1 of The Heart of the Dragon.**

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Harry Potter, the world or the characters. They belong to J. , with gratitude for letting us play with them. The challenge comes from GoldenSteel, with gratitude for the ideas. The only thing I could lay claim to are the story and plotline, but that just seems greedy..._

Draconic Communication is indicated this way: ¤_**I'm a Dragon, too!**_¤

**Chapter 12: Revelations and Repercussions.**

Sirius Black was watching as the students climbed down from the Express in Hogsmeade. Since he was a dog at the moment, he was fairly sure he'd not be recognised, but to be safe, he'd positioned himself in an alley next to the courtyard where the thestral-drawn carriages sat. Buckbeak had arrived yesterday, and he'd hastily used a colour charm to keep 'Witherwings' disguised. If they'd realised exactly which hippogriff he was, it would not have been a great leap to recognise that the infamous Sirius Black was in the area. When he'd arrived two weeks ago, he'd seen those Dragons (even in his head, he couldn't avoid the capitalisation; they were incredible creatures) and hoped he wouldn't have to get too close to them. He would have tried to get close enough to the castle to talk to Dumbledore, but there was a problem with that.

There were no fewer than fifteen aurors in Hogsmeade Valley now, and if that weren't bad enough, five hit-wizards as well. Although they were apparently here in response to the two Great Dragons everyone reported... the first ones seen in two centuries, no less... but he doubted they'd turn their noses up at capturing the 'convicted murderer' Sirius Black. He would rather avoid that, he had a decided allergy to the Dementors' Kiss, what with going all soul-less, leading to death.

There! He spotted Harry and his girl, among a whole throng of friends, in robes of varying colours, and sprang to his feet, all four of them. He was about to run over to him when he froze, the spirit of his 'inner hound' screaming 'bad idea' at him. Frozen and confused, he sniffed the air...

"_Here there be Dragons,_" he thought frantically, striving to pin down where they were... the scents were not easy to isolate from the crowd, even a hound's nose would be hard put to match a Dragon's... for the first time in his life, he regretted _not_ choosing the hyena animagus form James had said would suit him far better than a dog... If those Dragons were here, Harry could be in danger. Mustering his courage, he forced himself to move.

As he approached his Godson, he tried to understand _why_, as he got closer, the scent of Dragons got stronger...

* * *

Harry spotted Sirius' approach, but he also saw the canine animagus was scared, and badly. The way he was walking, looking around for some threat that Harry couldn't scent, and the way his tail slung low between his legs, were dead give-aways. The fact that he trembled more noticeably as he approached was just the icing on the cake. The young Dragon nudged his mate (his mate... he loved the way that sounded) and pointed out Sirius with a subtle gesture and a questioning look, which she returned with a furrowed brow. Apparently, she couldn't find what he was scared of either...

As the realisation washed over him, Hermione stiffened, she'd seen that look before. The moment he'd realised that Hagrid had been set up by whoever gave him that egg in first year, in third year when he'd figured out exactly who'd been behind the Patronus that saved his and Sirius' lives, and this year, just before he'd started banging his head own the table as the Goblet of Fire spat out his name...

Harry had realised the problem, and came up with a possible solution quickly, grabbing up a stick as he saw Sirius look towards him, and scratching some numbers and letters on it with his fingernail. Emily had trained them in the art of partial shifts, and fingernails-to-claws was the most subtle of these. "Hey, boy, what's wrong?" he asked, keeping the attention of the 'dog' with his voice. "You lost, hey? Want to fetch?" He waved the stick, scratches towards his godfather, and when he saw the recognition as the tail rose a little and wagged fitfully, as if forced, threw the stick in the direction of the Shrieking Shack. The 'dog' didn't return, merely running in that direction, grabbing the stick, making a play at 'keep-away', and taking off towards the Shack.

* * *

Sirius knew his godson was clever, but to come up with that little plan on nearly no notice was definitely Marauder-worthy. He now sat in what had once, long ago, been the Shack's living room, on an old crate that had once held butterbeer, and waited. The scratches Harry'd dug into the stick conveyed all the info he needed. _Moony's place. 8.00 pm. Human, please._

Hermione quietly worked her way down the secret corridor, familiar to her and Harry , who was a little ahead of her, from their adventure the previous year. The door at the end stood a little ajar, and creaked ominously as her mate pushed on it. Stepping into the main living room of the Shack, she saw Sirius sniffing gently at the air. Even in human form, his sense of smell was slightly sharper than the average wizard's, and now he smelled something strange.

"Hello, Padfoot," Harry said, as the Crimson Couple took seats. "It _has_ been a while. How are things?"

"Harry, what's going on?" the canine animagus asked. "When I got your first messages, I said I'd get here quick as I could. When I do get here, I find there's Dragons in the valley, Great Dragons, no less, and you disappear off to London with the lovely Miss Granger, and I haven't been able to get near the castle because of all the aurors and hit-wizards running around. All I've been able to pick up is rumour and hearsay, and this Duke of Slytherin chap showing up, that can't be good." By the end of his speech, Sirius was pacing back and forth in front of the old fireplace (it doesn't count as antique unless it's in good condition).

Harry's grin got wider. Hermione jabbed him in the ribs as she tried to reassure the older wizard. "Don't worry on that account, His Grace is on our side," she said. "If he knows what's good for him," she then muttered. Sirius looked again. He knew his sense of smell was weaker in this form, but it was still sharp enough to be making him aware of the same scent that had scared him in Hogsmeade. He was also aware that the most likely reason no-one else had been scared was that they couldn't pick up on it with human noses. Add that into the request for his human form...

"What do you two know that I don't?" he asked, not sure he'd like the answer. When Hermione answered, his vague suspicion became a certainty.

"After Harry was 'chosen' by the Goblet, he was going to delay accepting until I found him a way out of it," she said. "While he was stalling, I went to the library and found the answer. Because they'd put an age line around the Goblet, those wards were balancing the Goblet's magic, and the effects were delayed until his selection was confirmed or denied by his legal guardian." Taking the book with the relevant information from her book bag (of course it's not a handbag, I don't keep hands in it), she threw it to him, marked at the appropriate page.

"Of course, that was before we read the next bit," Harry chimed in. "Dumbledore had already closed that option off." Sirius was reading the relevant paragraph, and getting more and more angry. "He holds both of the necessary positions for it. But there doesn't seem to have been enough follow-up to the research. By pushing this on me, they went and emancipated me, and since I claimed my legacy, all of it. We've done what research we could, both here and in Diagon Alley during the break. The Grangers live twenty minutes away by the Tube. So if we need to be formal, we can."

"How do you mean, formal, Harry?" Sirius inquired. "I know the standard titles and usages, but since you grew up with... [shudder] Petunia and Vernon, I was sure you wouldn't. Reminds me, I still have to tear strips off the old man for that..."

"I'll demonstrate, then, shall I?" Harry stood, and set his right foot slightly ahead of the other, hooking his elbow as Hermione's hand slipped onto his forearm through the gap created. He half-raised his right hand, the fingers displayed, and his signet ring stood out. Sirius eyebrows tried to disappear into his scalp. "Lord Sirius Orion Black, Head of that House, Rogue of the Ancient Days, greetings. Permit me to introduce myself, and my companion." He'd been rehearsing, and by mutual agreement, he and his Dragon-bride had determined how they would do this. "I am Lord Harry James Potter, Head of that House, Hunter of the Ancient Days, Duke of Slytherin." As Sirius goggled at the titles, he turned his outstretched hand over, and gestured to Hermione beside him. "My I present Lady Hermione Jane Potter, of that House, Duchess of Slytherin?" As Sirius conformed to the ancient protocols and kissed her hand, he caught that scent again. It couldn't be... could it?

"Since when?" he asked. "Not that I don't think you're an unbeatable team, or that there could ever be someone better suited, but a godfather likes to know these things, if only so I won't miss your anniversary."

"Here's where it gets... complicated," Hermione answered, and once again the canine animagus' eyebrows hid in his hairline. If Hermione Gr- No, it was Potter now... but how? If _she _said something was complicated, complete with significant pause, it had to be a veritable Gordian Knot...

"_Pay attention, Padfoot, she's telling you!_" he thought.

"We've been... mated... since the Yule Ball, or the night after rather, but it's been approaching this for awhile," she said. She was very nervous about something... "You see Sirius, those Dragons you mentioned?" She drew a deep breath. "That's us."

Lord Black went out like a light.

* * *

Sirius swam upwards through a vaguely warm sea of dreams, returning to consciousness. "_That was a weird dream to have,_" he thought, struggling to return his mind to its usual bright and functional self. Looking around, he found himself in a wide open cave... of sorts. The walls looked like they'd been _melted_ out of solid rock, and pressed and polished afterward. The floor was roughened in a cross-hatch pattern, nut was slightly of, as if it were neither spell nor device that did the scratching. The open side of the cave wasn't totally open, with pillar of stone every thirty feet or so, and gave out onto a view of the Black Lake, glimmering in the moonlight. Sirius' jaw dropped at the unbelievable sight. As he pinched himself, he felt an indescribable feeling of awe, just standing there, looking out at the lake from a spot just under the castle that was Hogwarts... an impossible location.

"So you're awake," came the soft voice of his godson's... wife? Wait, didn't she use the word mate? Or was that just a dream? Or was he still dreaming? As he began to hyperventilate, she stepped closer, stared into his eyes and _commanded_ in a voice he could _not_ refuse: "**Calm down.**" Without meaning to, he did.

"Are... are you... really..." he stammered out, confused as to what to believe.

"Great Dragons? Yes. According to Mum, we're Welsh Reds. If you need proof, here's Harry now." She gestured out into the night, as Harry swooped into view, his thirty-foot length and forty-foot wingspan black in the night-time sky, and Sirius idly wondered how the light in the cave was hidden. The Dragon that he was informed was Harry carried an odd burden. Two sharks, each eight feet long. As he soared closer, Sirius and Hermione spotted movement down on the lake shore as a handful of aurors, led by a hit-wizard at a guess, sprang from hiding and began hurling spells. Although the animagus couldn't make it out, Hermione could clearly hear the hit-wizard berating two of the aurors for not attacking as ordered.

Harry released the sharks in an upward arc, and Hermione braced herself, catching one on each shoulder as the dead creatures slipped through the wards that protected their weyr. As Sirius goggled slack-jawed at the impossibility of the teenage bookworm effortlessly carrying the carcasses, the wyrm outside spun about, unleashing his fiery breath in a huge flare that destroyed all night-vision and overwhelmed any spells to protect same, that the wizards and witches below may have had. Hermione had moved across to a long, deep bench she herself had burned from the wall and deposited the sharks there, even as Harry took advantage of the temporary blindness he'd inflicted on those outside the weyr's wards to slip through said wards.

Sirius had been a Gryffindor, and one of the better ones. His best friend James had been brave enough to stand against Voldemort three times, defying him along with his bride Lily, and Sirius had managed the same feat twice. So courage wasn't the problem. That didn't explain why he felt like running away, finding a hole big enough for one person (two if they were _very_ friendly) and pull it shut behind him. It didn't help matters when his inner dog was yelling at him. "_That's it, we're screwed_" constantly playing in the back of one's mind is not conducive to one's clarity of thought. When the Dragon turned to face him, looking him up and down, and then rumbled something, it was like trying to comprehend a thunderstorm. He didn't know where to begin, and he felt like passing out again.

"Harry, stop scaring him," Hermione said, gently chiding her mate. He can't understand you."

A look of enlightenment washed over the Dragon's face, and he closed his eyes as he forced himself smaller, again taking the human shape of Harry Potter, with a sheepish grin plastered on his face. "Sorry, Sirius," he apologised. "I kind of forgot about the dragonfear. Are you okay?"

The Marauder shook his head. "I _thought_ I was fine, Harry, but I think I mat have slipped a gear or two," he replied, and turned to the bushy-haired witch behind him, where she was searing the shark-meat with fire... from her mouth... "Am I going mad?" As the two teenagers looked at him, a few moments passed. "Alright, alright. Madder, happy now?"

Harry strode to Hermione, and replied as his Emerald eyes met her chocolate-brown gaze. "Immensely and incontrovertibly. I have Mine. She has me. And since I carried you in here..." He grinned as he dropped to his knees, delivering a very enthusiastic rendering of puppy-dog-eyes as he pointed at Padfoot. "He followed me home, can we keep him?"

* * *

Snape hated this. He hadn't been able to use the Yule break to set up a claim to this domain, because of all the aurors and the handful of hit-wizards in the valley. They were everywhere, and while they might not bother the mighty Welsh Reds that Potter and his mate were, he was a Ligurian Grey. Fifteen feet long with no breath weapon, and just a spray of venom. Stealth was his strength, stealth and subtlety, but if he wasn't careful, he'd lose everything he'd worked for since he'd first heard that prophecy and 'earned' the mark he'd let that madman who called himself Voldemort put on him. True, he'd come up with several ways to remove it if he had to, but for now, it was better to maintain the charade, and to keep an eye on the growing strength of the Dark Lord. Still, it rankled, getting the sense that he was violating domain, and that of a mated pair to boot, every time he left his lair.

* * *

Voldemort was still fuming at the news he'd received two and a half weeks ago. Wormtail had felt the after-effects of that session for days. Potter and his mudblood were Dragons! It was barely to be believed. He was certain that the news was accurate, considering the name his agent had put on the missive. _None_ of his followers desired the agony they would court for using it without cause. Still, if the blood of a wizard enemy would make him more powerful than any other, imagine how powerful the blood of a Dragon could make him...

"Wormtail!" he called in a high voice. "Bring parchment and ink, and write as I command!"

* * *

It had taken a couple of hours to bring Sirius up to speed, but to Harry's mind, they were hours well spent. In addition to edifying their adult friend, the conversation had the side effect of acclimatizing his canine side to their scent. The questions Sirius had asked were good ones, and sometimes gave them ideas for later, but the high points were three in number. First had been Sirius laughter at Harry's complaint about bad guys and anagrams. "Why don't they get that it isn't working?" had the animagus rolling on the floor, gasping with laughter. Second had been his reaction to discovering Harry'd bought the Prophet and restructured it, giving rise to the Sage. He'd laughed again, but this time it was more 'villainous', imagining the things _he_ could do with a newspaper at his disposal, although Harry's insistence that their reporters would be honest and just deliver the facts brought him down a little. The final highlight had been his sincere and heartfelt congratulations, and condolences, when they informed him of their official notification of their... nuptials...

"It was three days after we got to the Grangers, and this spotted owl swoops in the window and perches on my head at breakfast, where no-one could miss it, and drops the Ministry envelope in my lap." Hermione narrated. "Having no idea what it was, I opened it, right as Dad looks over my shoulder, and reads the letter as I did. Just as I start getting nervous, he turns to Harry and says "Congratulations, to you and the Lady Potter. Now I'm going to go run maintenance on my shotguns.' Caused Harry no end of confusion, until I gave him the letter. He thought for a minute he'd stuffed up somewhere, or that the goblins had missed a marriage contract or something."

Sirius, for his part, while he didn't have any truly similar stories, could and did regale them with descriptions of the places he'd been since they saw him last. It was his final sentence that gave Harry an idea. "I really wish I'd been able to share it all, but as a fugitive..."

Harry grinned. "Well, we do have a newspaper that has spent the past month or so building a reputation for the facts..." His grin was matched by two more.

* * *

The next morning saw the students in the Great Hall, and although Harry and Hermione had to field some interested questions from their friends and dorm-mates, they kept their answers vague and mysterious. Looking at their class schedule brought a moment of apprehension, as they had double potions with Snape and the Slytherins, followed by Defence and then Herbology. Sirius had offered to look at the egg for Harry, and see what he could figure out, other than that it hurt their ears if they opened it.

* * *

Potions. As a double lesson it was hours of hell. Hermione glanced across at Harry. The 'dungeon bat' had assigned their partners today, and placed her with Goyle, of all people, and Harry with Pansy Parkinson. Worse, he _loomed_ up and down the classroom, ensuring they were 'following instructions' and docking points for the slightest infractions. Five times, she'd had to keep from throwing the wrong ingredient into their concoction, and three times she'd had to correct the mistakes he'd already made, before she finally lost it with him. As he reached to drop the next 'error' (she was beginning to doubt his sincerity when he apologised for these mistakes; not even Weasley had been _this_ stupid, and that was saying something). As he was about to drop the Blisterweed sap into the mixture bubbling away, she quietly hissed, in English rather than Parseltongue. "Goyle, let me warn you, if you make one more mistake, I won't fix it." He froze as she continued. "This particular mistake creates a fiery cloud that will cover you, me, and the people on each side of us, as well as those in front of and behind us." He swallowed, and she smirked, a low nasty smirk. "Some of the people in this room are fireproof, Goyle. Want to find out who?"

Snape sneered in their direction as he vanished the contents of Harry's cauldron surreptitiously while the boy was looking over at his... paramour. "I thought even you would be further along than this, Potter," he snarled and Harry glared up at him, his nostrils flaring in anger, and he caught that scent again, mud, clay and rotten greenery... and Dragon. His eyes widened momentarily, and Snape saw it, saw the realisation washing over the brat's face, and struck wildly, out of desperation, not physically, where the greater prowess of a Welsh Red would overcome, nor through magic, not directly, as he knew Potter's might was greater than the boy guessed at, but through the eye contact the boy had unwittingly opened to him, and into the mind...

He found himself in the heart of a furnace, a star, a constant roil of unbearable heat and agony, of light and a purifying stream of power, and he felt the dark magical energy within him burning, searing away in that unrelenting current of power, even as his 'victim' reached into his mind and trailed fingers of molten magic through his secrets... In the real world, Snape's left arm began to smoulder and smoke poured out from his sleeve, thick and greasy-looking...

Harry found himself in the depths of Snape's mental sanctum, shelf after shelf of potions and elixirs, of infusions and decoctions, of salves and oils. He _knew_,without knowing how, that these were secrets and memories that the teacher didn't want him to see, and he was curious... Lifting a vial from the shelf he peered into its depths, idly wondering what had been on the surface of the teacher's mind.

_Snape saw the boy's recognition of the scent. The boy must never find out, he must never suspect that the Potions Master he'd been tangling with was a..._

Harry emerged from the memory, and put it back in its place. ¤_**So what do you least wish me to discover, Snape?**_¤ he rumbled, and pressed against the resistance, trying to find the hardest path to take. He reached for the... vase? With a single white lily... what could it mean?

_Snape knelt before the Dark Lord, repeating what he'd overheard. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..." With a grimace, he spoke. "I am sorry, my lord, that I could not hear it all, but the blasted barkeep almost caught me. I had to leave before I heard the rest." The Dark Lord never had to know that he'd heard the rest of the prophecy, the damning words that could give him an out. Voldemort waved his carefully crafted excuse aside. _

_"__The warning you have brought is enough, Severus," he spoke in a rasping hiss of a voice. "Indeed, there are two who meet the criteria already... the Longbottoms and the Potters, and I suspect the rest is merely a means of telling someone who to watch for. Prophecy is a very vague art. I shall simply destroy both children. What reward would you have of me?"_

_This was the dangerous bit. "I seek only to bear your mark, but revenge is sweet... I wish to make the mudblood pay for choosing Potter over me, if my lord sees fit to bestow such a gift on one so unworthy."_

_Voldemort laughed..._

Harry's rage was immense. Snape had betrayed his family! The greasy Grey had the temerity to drag others into his little games and blame _them_ for any fallout he caused. Never did Snape take upon himself any of the responsibility, the burden of his own regrets and failures... He played Chess with everyone he met, they were all just Chess pieces to him. Harry moved to the edge of Snape's mind and glared back with a truly draconic fury. Here, within Snape's mind, he called for the Ligurian Grey's memories, the ones that told him what he was, what he did, where his powers came from. Harry let Snape see his true form as the other wyrm finally emerged, burned and smoking, great swathes of blackened flesh visible everywhere, from the blazing fury of Harry's mind, and breathed out fire as had never been seen, burning his enemy's mind clean of all knowledge of being a Dragon... and a wizard... forcing his mind back to a state of innocence, back to mental age of five...

Then Harry returned to his own mind and broke the contact.

The entire class saw the two lock gazes, and they all saw Snape's arm smoke and burn as white hot flames seared the Dark Mark from the flesh, leaving behind a scar, in the shape of a spear. They all heard Snape's voice rise into an unbearable scream of agony, as he raised both hands to grip the sides of his head, squeezing in an attempt to force the pain from his mind. When Harry shook his head, he knew he had to seem innocent of wrongdoing, and hid his face in his arms as he slumped to the desk. When Hermione left her table to go to him, everyone expected Snape to be all over it, taking points and assigning detention, so the look of fear and horror on his face puzzled (and, to be honest, scared the fertiliser out of) many of the students, especially as he collapsed, curled into a foetal ball and began to cry...


	13. Chapter 13

**On Crimson Wings.**

**Part 1 of The Heart of the Dragon.**

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Harry Potter, the world or the characters. They belong to J. , with gratitude for letting us play with them. The challenge comes from GoldenSteel, with gratitude for the ideas. The only thing I could lay claim to are the story and plotline, but that just seems greedy..._

Draconic Communication is indicated this way: ¤_**I'm a Dragon, too!**_¤

**Chapter 13: What Makes a Monster?**

Harry looked at the form of Severus Snape, sitting in one corner of the hospital wing, playing with a toy potion set. He felt sick to his stomach, and despised himself for the damage he'd done to the other Dragon. Moments after the classroom had broken into chaos and panic, he'd bolted, shutting down his link to his mate, so she couldn't calm him or find him. He'd sat by the Black Lake, in pouring rain that was little above freezing, for hours. When he'd finally slunk inside, under cover of his Invisibility Cloak, his mind still locked down tight, he stealthily made his way to the hospital wing. It was a difficult thing to do, but the least he could do was look at what he'd wrought, he'd decided. Now, seeing the mentally-five-years-old Potions master, he felt a fresh wave of disgust with himself. If this was how he used his new powers, did he deserve them at all?

Hermione had tried to find Harry, chasing him out of the potions classroom after Snape collapsed, but he'd disappeared under his cloak too quickly, and with the other wyrms at Hogwarts, the scents in the corridors were confused enough that by the time she'd followed his scent, he'd already been out in the pouring rain long enough for the trail to run cold. She'd sought him in her mind, but she couldn't find him, and was torn between confidence that he was fine, and she could tear strips off him for blocking her out, and certainty that he was trying to, or already had managed to, get himself killed. The self-loathing she'd felt as he walled off their link had not helped her peace-of-mind any. It was too much, and she made her way to the Chamber of Secrets, where she could return to her true form and curl up and weep.

Sirius was woken from his nap by the sobs echoing up the tunnel from the Chamber to the weyr. Carefully, he made his way down the ramp, not wanting to upset a Dragon more than necessary. There was a reason for Hogwarts' motto. There, curled up on herself, boiling tears steaming as they plunged from her snout into the pool in the middle of the Chamber, was Hermione, the Dragon, bellowing in a rumble that he didn't understand about some upset. Harry was nowhere in sight, and Sirius briefly wondered why, before moving forward to _try_ to comfort a multi-tonne apex predator... "_Crazy stunt ahoy, full speed ahead! Yep,_" he thought, "_I'm a Gryffindor all right._"

* * *

Poppy Pomfrey was torn. She couldn't say she liked Severus, and she doubted there were many that could. But she wasn't sure what the man had done for this to happen. Draco Malfoy had accused Potter of performing a Dark spell that incapacitated the 'innocent' Potions Master, but besides himself, Theodore Nott and Millicent Bulstrode, no-one else agreed. According to all the reports, the Potions Master had isolated everyone from their usual partners and proceeded with his usual classroom habits... favouritism towards Slytherins, sabotage against Gryffindors, the whole true story... before Potter had glared at him for vanishing a perfectly fine potion, they'd made eye contact and everything went to hell.

To her, it sounded like a failed Legilimancy assault, but she didn't know, and with what her charms could tell her, couldn't find out, who had been the attacker. She'd said as much to Minerva and Albus, the latter of whom hadn't been this upset over petrified children two years ago. As she turned to head towards the floo, intent on bringing in better help, she heard an argument begin behind her.

"To do this to such as Severus takes great power, Minerva, power that he could not have gained in any normal way at his age," the Headmaster said, mostly lucid. "I fear I have failed, and our best hope has fallen. Harry Potter has gone Dark."

Harry heard this too, concealed beneath his cloak behind them, and almost gasped, stifling it at the last moment in order to remain hidden. Had he really gone Dark? Is _that_ where the power had come from? Was he nothing more than a monster? Each of the words from a man he looked up to as a sort of substitute grandfather, if one that was nuttier than a tonne of cashews, drove a spike deep into his self-esteem, his self-respect. Each word was sharper than goblin-forged steel, and Harry was now having trouble breathing, he was having trouble controlling his shape, and there was a great pressure inside him. As the blood roared through his veins, he barely heard Professor McGonagall's words.

"Pish and tosh," she remonstrated the old man. "That is such a sack of blethers, Albus. I'd sooner believe that he and Miss Granger were the two Dragons all those Ministry wizards are looking for than that he was Dark, as you put it. Until we figure out what happened to Severus, there'll be no point in jumping to conclusions."

Inwardly, Harry was grateful for his Head of House's support, but it didn't help him much, as his body wasn't entirely listening to him any longer... His vision was covered in red, and everything swam around him as he struggled to stay as he was...

His fragile control was breaking and something had to give...

* * *

Hermione snapped her head up, and raced towards the Chamber entrance, something was wrong. There'd been a feeling of something shattering, and she knew where Harry was, and that he needed her. "_Save him now,_" she thought, "_tear strips off him later!_" She'd reached the base of the slide from Moaning Myrtle's bathroom before she registered Sirius voice reminding her (yelling at her, really) that she was still a Dragon. She spent a few moments shifting her form before scaling the sheer surface of the pipe, hissing at the entryway to open. Clambering out, she took a moment to re-orient herself, and took off for the hospital wing.

* * *

Voldemort's agent read his instructions for the second task carefully. He really didn't wish to fail the Dark Lord, so his orders would be carried out. It shouldn't be too hard to change that hostage list a little... especially if he did it now, while none of the aurors were around...

* * *

Harry's vision was fading from red to grey, and darkening at the edges as he collapsed, his mind trying to tear itself apart. He dropped to his knees, his cloak spilling from his back onto the floor as he dragged in huge gulping breaths, as though he wasn't getting enough air. The teachers and the mediwitch turned and saw him there, and as they began to move towards him, Hermione arrived, smashing through the hospital wing doors and charging forwards, sliding the last few feet on her knees to grab Harry and draw him into her lap. This close, he could feel all the anger and hatred he'd built up over the years tearing at his mind, at their bond. She didn't care about their sudden audience, all that mattered was her mate. Grabbing Harry's face between her hands, she forced their eyes to meet and begged him to be okay... and fell into his mind.

* * *

There was fire everywhere, a burning akin to a furnace or star, and yet all she felt was a vague warmth, a rightness, a sense of belonging. Then the Great Dragon that was Harry spiralled through the flames, roaring and screaming incoherently, and she launched herself after it. From what he bellowed, a froth of self-loathing and a desire to die before he could hurt her, she pieced together his argument, even as her mind shifted to be _her_ dragon-self, and she twined her tail with his, and slung her neck around his to nuzzle against his cheek, and she bellowed into his mind...

* * *

Minerva saw the bushy haired girl stiffen, and waved Poppy and Amelia back. There was something going on that she didn't understand, and Albus was most likely having one of his 'butterfly' moments again, as she had taken to referring to those periods of increasing frequency where he wasn't all there. "Miss Granger," she asked, her voice concerned, only to have her suspicions confirmed in the strangest of ways as the witch in Question, eyes still shut, rumbled out a short line of thunderous words. ¤_**Harry James Potter!**_¤ she roared at him, even as the memory-damaged Snape's eyes widened and he trembled in fear, as the other adults, with as much comprehension as a monkey reading Shakespeare, paused in their attempts to help. ¤_**Don't you dare shut me out ! If you die, it would kill me! There is nothing here for me without you!If you go and die and leave me behind, I'll come after you and drag you back, kicking and screaming if I have to! Don't you get it, Harry? I love you... I don't care what you've done or not, that is true... You are MINE!**_¤

Deep within a burning mindscape, a vast inferno that welcomed and held him Harry heard these words, he felt them enter his heart and sighed. ¤_**I'd better buy a couch for the weyr, hadn't I, then? Otherwise, you can't threaten to make me sleep on it...**_¤ he answered her, his breathing easier because she was there, she loved him, all of him, even the bit that was an idiot... which felt like most of him right now. As the pain in his head, his mind, his very soul faded and she soothed him, he noticed one pertinent detail before true sleep reached up to claim him. Between the two of them, there was only one mindscape...

* * *

Harry's breakdown thwarted, Hermione opened her eyes to the unenviable sight of the Headmaster, Her Head of House, the school nurse _and _the Head of the DMLE staring at her, along with Severus Snape peering over the top of the beds as if he'd been terrified of what was going on. Realising they'd heard every word she'd just said, even if the only ones they _might_ have recognised were Harry's names, she sheepishly grinned. "Oops."

Minerva found it hard to believe, but there the truth was before her. Hermione Granger had spoken in a language that human throats could not replicate. Oh, it was possible to learn the meanings, but specialised magic aside, no-one could speak it without their vocal cords getting hurt... except Miss Granger had spoken it as if she'd been born doing so, and Harry had replied. She met the gaze of her two co-conspirators present. Dangerous creatures or not, it was time for answers... or would be as soon as Harry woke up.

That didn't stop her from wanting to bang her head against a wall when Albus spoke up. Apparently 'butterfly moment' was putting it lightly. "Tell me Miss Granger," he asked, "exactly how long have you been a llama?"

* * *

Sirius sat by the pool in the Chamber. He'd tried to comfort Hermione, but she'd been inconsolable, and pushing you luck with a Dragon was very low on his list of priorities. Somewhere after 'taunt Voldemort while armed solely with a half a slice of cheese'.When she'd taken off to help Harry (because let's face it, who else would she have been that upset over, and who else could get her out of it that quickly), he'd amused himself by transfiguring a large, Dragon-sized couch in their weyr. He figured he'd probably pay for that one later. Once that was done, however, he was left with quite a bit of time on his hands. He had found exactly two animals who _didn't_ act terrified by the two wyrms, and those were their familiars. It was subtle at first, but he could see slight changes to each of them. It was nothing he could put his finger on, but the two were a little bigger than the last time he'd seen them, and their scents had subtly shifted.

He'd enlisted the familiars' help, but they hadn't stuck around after the first time he opened it. So once again, when he lifted the thing, they were gone, Hedwig out through the weyr and Crookshanks... he wasn't actually sure _how_ the half-kneazle came and went from the weyr, now that he thought about it, running his hands over the surface of the egg. The Wizarding Wireless had a volume control, maybe these things did, too? As he bumped the catch that opened it, and the terrible screeching started, he lost his temper. This thing was a worse banshee than Molly Weasley ever was. Without thinking he threw the thing as far as his frustration would carry it. The screeching and wailing as it sailed across the Chamber vanished with a loud splash as the egg hit the pool in the middle of the Chamber and dropped to the bottom, trailing bubbles and giving off the sound of distant music that was extremely vague from the surface. "_Wait, it was _that _simple?_" he marvelled, and started metaphorically kicking himself, and wishing he'd gotten frustrated a _lot_ earlier. Taking a deep breath, he plunged his head into the pool.

* * *

Hermione sat next to Harry's bed, as Snape lay in the bed nearest Madam Pomfrey's office, taking a nap. She'd picked up a general idea of what had happened to him while she was in Harry's mind. Fortunately, they were waiting for Harry to wake up. All other classes had been cancelled for the day, as the loss of a teacher was a problem. So Minerva had been drawn off to her office by paperwork and duty, while 'Sev' as the former Potions Master insisted on being called now, was cared for by Madam Pomfrey. Madam Bones was still here though, keeping a close eye on the teenage couple. There were always two aurors at the doors, too, usually on a rotating shift sequence. In fact, the current shift was almost up, and these two, Dawlish and Sturmholt, if she wasn't mistaken, were about to be replaced. Indeed, there were the two who'd replace them now, a tall, built black man, and a middle-height young woman with bubble-gum pink hair and... CRASH! no sense of balance. She'd just fallen flat on her face after stepping on her own shoe!

Hermione looked down at the pink-haired auror. "Fumble result fifteen: You trip and stumble over an imaginary deceased turtle. You lie there for one round feeling very confused." Quoting from her Dad's old gaming books was sort of fun, actually. "Weren't you a seventh year in Hufflepuff in '91?" she asked, delving into her memory.

The auror, who if Hermione was right would have to be a very promising cadet or had done extra work to graduate from the auror academy early, chuckled and nodded, even as she got to her feet. "The name is Tonks. That's it. _Only_ Tonks. I have a first name, but the last person who used it had to keep his teeth in a cup until Madam Pomfrey could put them back." Waving at her senior partner, she introduced him. "This is Kingsley Shacklebolt. We're here at Madam Bones' orders, although we haven't been told why yet. I thought we were here for the Ministry's little Dragon-hunt. We saw one of them last night while patrolling... thirty feet if he was an inch! Magnificent thing he was." She grinned. "I bet Hagrid's trying to adopt the pair."

Hermione smiled as the auror stepped closer and looked at the boy in the bed. "Hmm. Doesn't _look _like a Boy-who-lived type to me. Boy-who-napped, maybe," Tonks said. Glancing back at Hermione, she smiled. "Your boyfriend, right? I can't imagine why you'd be so devoted otherwise." She checked over her shoulder, and seeing Kingsley was discussing something with Madam Bones, took the chance to drop a bit of information. "He's my cousin, you know. Second cousin, once removed, I think. My great-grandfather and his grandmother were siblings. Since you're his girl, if you need something and I can help, don't hesitate to ask." Hermione was stunned for a moment as the pink-haired auror walked off. Harry hadn't said anything about... wait, it couldn't be on his mum's side, that was the Dursleys... horrible people... so it had to be on his dad's... and Sirius had once mentioned being Harry's cousin, to some degree, so it had to be on that side. Sirius was the last of the Blacks, though, so how... This was pretty confusing. As she watched, she counted the strides of the auror. One... two... three... CRASH "I'm all right!" called Tonks. "Imaginary deceased turtle, no need to panic!"

* * *

Harry's eyes fluttered open, to see Hermione smiling at him. The smile did not reach her eyes. Over the past hour, she'd had time to recover from the scare of his almost tearing himself apart, and she remembered the way she'd felt when she couldn't feel him in her mind. "Harry James Potter." Although her voice was mild and calm, the tone was vaguely... annoyed. "If you ever shut me out like that again, you will _not_ like what happens." Simple, matter-of-fact... so why did it scare him more than dementors ever had?

"I'm sorry," he whispered, hanging his head. "I didn't think. I just thought... I was becoming a monster. It was like all the magic and power was using me, instead of the other way around." He sighed. "That's no excuse, though. I love you more than anything. I should trust you as easily as breathing, but... I thought there was no way you'd want to be with a monster like I was becoming."

She caught his chin in her hand and gently forced him to meet her gaze. "Harry, am I a monster?" When he shook his head, she continued, matching his whisper, and trying to convey everything before the adults arrived. She could hear their approaching footsteps now. "If my being a Dragon doesn't make me a monster, neither does yours make you one. We're still young... heh, Mum's still young, if what she told us about Dragons is true... and we're still learning how to be teenagers, and now teenage Dragons? I don't think they have any therapists for that." She gave him a quick, although searing, kiss, and sat back down as Madam Bones sat down on Harry's other side.

* * *

Amelia looked at the two teenagers before her. She'd done her research, or rather, had had the research done, and had been surprised at some of what she'd found. With the Daily Sage following up on certain articles, eradicating its previous incarnation's reputation as a Ministry mouthpiece, the public had started asking some serious questions about the information they'd received in the past. For instance, Sirius Black, despite being in Azkaban for twelve years, until his escape, was the victim of an illegal kiss-on-sight order (one she had happily overruled once she had the right evidence) _because he'd never been convicted_. Allegations were always checked out, and if something couldn't be proven, it wasn't presented as fact. Most of the time it wasn't presented at all. She loved the new paper...

She'd found out a few other things when she got deeper into everything. The owner of her new favourite newspaper was the Duke of Slytherin. Through Right of Conquest, no less. That meant little to her. She then discovered the documents that chronicled the emancipation, inheritance, entitlement and several months later, the marriage, of one Harry James Potter. Then the Ministry had her running around up here, trying to catch and trap a mated pair of Great Dragons (they were most assuredly not rumours, and so they were obviously not extinct) rather than going through the DRCMC and the families traditionally known for dragon-hunting, because the aurors and hit-wizards were cheaper, and the lion's share of any hoard they found would go to the Ministry. It rankled.

When Minerva had brought her suspicions to her, Amelia had been sceptical. Poppy's diagnostic charms, and the observations of the three non-Slytherin Heads of House had her almost convinced. And now that the mind-healer from Saint Mungo's had been and delivered his report , she was. "The Man's mind is seared, Madam Bones," Danver Tancred had said. "His mind and memories are in there, but they're... walled off, for lack of a better term, by mental scar tissue, again for lack of a better term. It's likely that they'll return in time, but until then, I recommend he gets some good professional care, and someone to look out for him."

So she had taken upon herself the most dangerous part of the whole task: getting to the bottom of it all, with two multi-tonne apex predators of uncertain temper...

This was going to be very formal, she realised. "Lord Potter, Lady Potter, Head and lady of that House, Duke and Duchess of Slytherin, and Hunter of the Ancient Days, greetings." _That_ introduction had their eyes opened wide. "I am Amelia Bones, Regent of that House, and place-holder for the Reeve of the Ancient Days. This is an inquiry into the events of this morning, and the effects it had upon one Severus Tobias Snape. Perhaps once that's dealt with we might discuss your opinions on... Dragons?"


	14. Chapter 14

**On Crimson Wings.**

**Part 1 of The Heart of the Dragon.**

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Harry Potter, the world or the characters. They belong to J. , with gratitude for letting us play with them. The challenge comes from GoldenSteel, with gratitude for the ideas. The only thing I could lay claim to are the story and plotline, but that just seems greedy..._

Draconic Communication is indicated this way: ¤_**I'm a Dragon, too!**_¤

**Chapter 14: ...And What Does Not.**

"Dragons?" Harry asked, striving for an 'ignorant but interested' manner. He just hoped Madam Bones didn't notice how tight Hermione was gripping his other hand as he acknowledged the Duke of Slytherin title by raising his signet. His House Potter signet was there as well, a plain band with the crest and motto, seated just outward along the finger from the greater status ducal one. "What do you mean, Madam Bones? Hagrid hasn't covered those yet in our Care of Magical Creatures classes."

Amelia Bones wasn't fooled for a moment. "I'll cover that in a little while, Mister Potter. First, I need to hear exactly what happened to Mister Snape. Sealing away his memories behind mental scar tissue smacks of dark and dangerous powers, according to your Headmaster, and we wouldn't want that level of scrutiny, now would we?" She smiled. It was _not_ a comforting one, but the smile of a huntress who has found her prey.

Hermione felt Harry's cautious curiosity, and it tempered her rising anger. "Could you explain that, please? Exactly what does this 'mental scar tissue' mean?" She had the feeling it could be important, especially given the way she'd felt Harry react to the word 'sealing'.

"The mind-healer," the DMLE chief answered, "Healer Tancred, says he'd never seen the like, and would be checking references about the mind-arts for similar occurrences, but the gist I got from him was that his memories are still in their, just locked away from the rest of him, inaccessible. Even to a legilimens. The barrier seems to be a form of mentally-shaped burn scar. Until it 'heals' and falls away, an event we have no way to judge the timing of, that mind is gone. He remembers being a five-year-old boy in Spinner's end, with a terrible man for a father, and then nothing."

For a few moments, Harry identified with his fellow wyrm, but realised a great difference between them. In that environment, he'd been tempered by the decision to be better than his tormentors. Snape, had apparently become a flawed work through the decision to become one himself. A handful of words came to his mind: "_There, but for the grace of heaven, go I..._" Had he allowed himself to take that path, he could have been Snape... although the knowledge that Snape was a Dragon meant it didn't apply exactly. Snape had been born to inherit this power. Harry had only received it through the love Hermione had for him, that wouldn't let him die without fighting.

"In class, Snape was his usual self," Harry said, making a decision, and squeezing his mate's hand to convey this. She returned an interested look, along with a vague hand roll, as if to say, 'after you'. "Hermione had just corrected her _assigned_ partner, Greg Goyle of Slytherin House, _again_, when Snape, using her rebuke of her partner as a distraction, vanished my potion and berated me for not getting started. I lost my temper and made eye contact, and he _pushed _his way into my mind. When he did, he found the only defences I have. I thought of nothing but fire, a fire that burned everything it touched, the heart of a star. While this was happening I found myself in his mind, with no idea how I'd gotten there." This part wasn't, strictly speaking, true; Emily Granger had explained that as Dragons, they would have to work to contain their natural talents for Legilimancy and Occlumancy. "I caught a glimpse of a handful of his memories, mostly by pushing against the path of most resistance. Then I lost my temper at one of them and called fire to that... mind-scape?" He acted uncertain, partially turning to Hermione, who nodded to confirm the term. "Everyone knows what happened then. And I spent the next few hours in the freezing rain thinking I was turning into a monster for what I did."

"Prat," muttered Hermione, reaching up and ruffling his messy raven locks. "You had me _so _worried, I thought you might have... I searched for you, I cried, I got hugged by..." her eyes flickered in Madam Bones' direction, "Paddy, and then I found you losing it. If you ever do that again, we will definitely need a couch for you." If the older witch had addressed her as the Duchess of Slytherin, she already knew of their 'marriage'. Thirty minutes with the right book had told her about the bond registries, and discussing the subject with her parents had taught them both that the Ministry's definitions of bonding were simple enough that their mating-bond counted as a marriage-bond. At Madam Bones' chuckle, she blushed a little.

"That takes care of that statement," she said. "Now for our discussion..."

* * *

Minerva McGonagall looked at the simple dragonhide wristband, worked with runes and transfiguration magic, as well as several diagnostic charms worked into it. "So we are agreed, then?" She asked, as Bathsheba Babbling, the Ancient Runes teacher, left the office. Filius and Pomona nodded, as did Albus. He was having a lucid moment this time, and his lemon drop supply was rapidly diminishing. Lifting the wristband, she led the way to the hospital wing.

Filius was managing to keep up easily, despite his smaller stature, being in very good shape. It was a highly effective workout, being shorter than most first-year students, as he had to run or jog almost everywhere he went, just to be on time. His goblin blood rendered him lousy at apparating, even if Hogwarts' wards hadn't been in the way. As they walked, he brought up the information he'd been asked for.

"Andromeda Tonks has agreed to take him in," he said. "Since that wristband will align his body's age with that of his mind, she said she'd be happy for the boy to stay." Minerva nodded. She'd expected no less. Albus (in a butterfly moment) had complained for a while about young Harry going Dark, until a very fed-up Filius Flitwick had pointed out some home truths. "You whine like a mule, Albus," he'd snapped, "Severus is still alive. You want to give him _another_ second chance, well here it is! With his memories out of the way, he has a truly clean slate."

The Headmaster's butterfly moment had seemed to have turned into a goldfish, as he absorbed the information. "Besides," Minerva had added to Filius' argument, "Young Mister Potter didn't do this on purpose, after all."

* * *

Madam Bones was an expert interrogator. Given that the Ministry had decided that using Veritaserum on pure-bloods was an infringement of their rights (unless it wasn't one of them or anyone they supported), she'd had to be. It didn't take long for her to drag the story from the reluctant teenagers. Absorbing the details once she had was a little harder. To top it all off, she was _still _uncertain about letting her niece stay anywhere near a nesting pair of dragons... although Harry and Hermione weren't the types of dragon the current courses were geared for.

"So the two of you aren't going to rampage any time soon, you say?" she asked, trying to pin down all the information she could. Fudge's policies (translation: greed) be damned, she didn't want her aurors, or anyone else (with a few minor exceptions) getting hurt by wild creatures.

Harry smiled at Hermione. "I almost lost myself to something like that," he admitted, referring to the events of that morning. "But fortunately, I had my Duchess to beat some sense into me." Hermione huffed at him.

"Harry James Potter! I would never..!" she started, then paused, thoughtfully. "Well, not unless you needed it..." The older witch chuckled as the doors to the hospital wing opened to admit the parade of teachers who approached Severus' bed. With his more innocent personality, it was easy enough to think of him as that, or even Sev, as his inquisitive mind and run-and-find-out nature had not been curbed by his upbringing. Harry's face darkened, partly from anger that he didn't want to feel, and partly from shame at what he'd done, and finally from wondering what they were planning.

It was Albus who broke the silence. "Hello there, young Severus," he said to the five-year-old-in-mind man. Said man grumped a little at being woken up.

"Sev!" he insisted. "Severus is too long."

"Very well, Sev, then," the Headmaster continued. "Do you understand what has happened to you?"

The child in a man's body thought for a few moments, tapping his chin as he'd seen that boy in the other bed, the one with his name on it... Harry, he thought the name was... doing when he was thinking hard. It seemed to help _him_, so maybe it would work for Sev...

"I grew up to be a mean, mean man, like my Daddy, an' I was mean to everyone 'cept Lily, 'cause I could never be mean to her, until one day I was angry, and lashed out, an' called her a mean name, an' then she didn't wanna be my friend anymore, an' then she died, an' I was all alone an' got meaner, until I was mean to the wrong person an' they locked up my mind so as I wasn't mean any more." Drawing in a breath, he asked the 'nice kitty-lady' (McGonagall had entertained him a few times as a cat) a very important question. "Perfesser Magonnigull, can I ask a favour? It's a big one, an' it's very important." As the feline animagus nodded, he continued. "Could you find that person who did this to me, an' tell them I said 'thank you', for stopping me being mean?"

The professors explained to the boy in an adult form that the wristband was to allow his body to match the age of his mind ("It can't be comfortable to be in an adult body when you don't recall growing up."), and that they had someone who would look after him until he got better. On hearing this, he started to tremble like a leaf in the breeze. "If I get better, will I remember all the mean stuff? 'Cause I don't wanna be mean. If I made Lily mad at me so as I wasn't her friend any more, I don't think I wanna get better..."

In his bed, across the way, Harry heard every word. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks as the innocent that had been buried deep within Snape, little Sev, spoke of his best friend, Lily. Harry's mum. As Hermione hugged him tight, he held her also. His victim thanking him for what he'd done was almost too much to bear. As Sev asked the 'kitty-lady' why that other boy was crying (and was told that that was Lily's son). Amelia patted the young Dragon's shoulder. "What you're feeling now, Harry?" she said. "That's what makes you more than a monster. A monster wouldn't care what he'd done, or who he'd hurt. And that's why you're not one."

* * *

Once Madam Pomfrey had given him a clean bill of health, the Crimson Couple had made their way to the Gryffindor common room. There, they sat and snuggled against each other, simply enjoying each other's presence. Neville was the one who approached them, a little apprehensively.

"So, what happened?" he asked, quietly. Harry looked around and whispered his reply. He didn't need Lavender Brown or the like overhearing this.

"Snape's a wyrm," he said.

"Too right," said Neville. "What's that got to... Oh. Oh! You mean, he's like you two?"

"He wishes he were as awesome as Hermione," Harry snorted, as Hermione, not having heard this information yet, having been too concerned for her mate's welfare, gave him her full attention. "For that matter, _I_ wish I was as awesome as she is... No, he's a different breed, smaller in size, spits venom... I think he was a Ligurian Grey, at least that's how he thought of himself." He ran one hand through Hermione's bushy locks, idly. "Did you know that muggles have more than a few sayings involving dragons? One of them is that you should never look in their eyes. Turns out that's because the Great Dragons are natural-born legilimens and occlumens. It can do real damage to your mind if you're not strong enough. Snape found himself in my head, which meant, since Hermione's mum told us about our type of Dragon being an embodiment of Fire... And I was in his and I lost my temper..."

Neville winced. "How bad?"

Harry's face went dark and moody. "He thinks he's five years old, doesn't remember a thing after that, and insists everyone call him Sev. They think he'll recover in time, but... what if he doesn't? It's my fault...YOWCH!"

Hermione had poked him, hard, in the ribs. "Don't you dare wallow in guilt, Harry," she hissed. "You didn't seek this conflict, did you? You didn't kill him while I wasn't looking, right? You heard what Sev himself said about Snape."

Neville perked up a little. Of the handful of people in Gryffindor who knew the couple's secret, he was the most nervous, and worried when they argued or fought. He was fairly sure the Tower wasn't built to house Dragons. "What _did_ he say?" he asked.

Hermione smiled at Harry as she answered Neville, speaking at her mate. "The sweet little bot he _was_, said if he was so mean that Harry's mum had stopped being his friend, he wasn't sure he wanted his memories back."

Neville blinked. "But that means..."

Harry smiled wanly. "Yeah, Nev. At one point, Snape and my mum were the best of friends. Not sure if that means there's hope for Snape, or that I should start throwing up till I get to my toenails."

They sat for a moment. Neville was about to get up and find the rest of their circle of friends , to bring them up to date, when Hedwig swooped past and landed on the back of the love seat that Harry and Hermione were occupying, with a slight crunch of splintering wood as she closed her talons, holding out one leg to her master, with a note attached to her leg. The Longbottom heir blinked. Was it his imagination, or was Harry's owl... bigger?

The note was 'signed', as it were, with a pawprint. The contents had their full attention though. _I've solved it! You should get down here, kids, this could be important._

* * *

A quick sojourn with Cloak and Map brought Harry and Hermione to the Chamber. Sirius stood by a bench which had the golden egg sitting on it, next to a parchment, ink bottle and quill. As the two Dragons approached, the canine animagus straightened. "Discovered it by accident," he freely admitted, waving at the written words. "Can't say I like the tone of what it says much, though."

_Come seek us where our voices sound,_

_We cannot sing above the ground,_

_And while you're searching ponder this,_

_We've taken what you'll surely miss._

_An hour long you'll have to look,_

_And to recover what we took,_

_Past an hour, the prospect's black,_

_Too late, it's gone, it won't come back._

Harry agreed. "That has to be the worst rhyming scan I've ever seen since Dudley discovered rap music," he said. Hermione giggled at that, although Sirius was giving him a look that said 'I'll stand over here until the men in the white coats get here for you'.

The older wizard made an attempt at maturity, gently chiding his draconic godson. "Come on, Harry, be serious."

"Can't, that's your job. You're not very good at it, but you take what you can get..." Harry replied. Hermione decided to intervene before this could escalate.

"Padfoot," she said, deliberately using his Marauder name for emphasis, "Remember earlier today, when I took off running? We... you almost lost us both. He was being too serious, and blaming himself for something that wasn't his fault... we'll tell you about it later... so if you don't mind, he's fine as is... for now." Sirius nodded.

"Okay. Well, then," he said as he waved at the parchment once more. "I've been wracking my brains, and I've come up with a few interpretations. The first part about voices tells you where, the second part tells you what, the next two lines cover why and the last four tell you how long." He paused. "I guess you two should be working this out, but if you want my opinion..."

Harry looked at the puzzle in words. "How did you figure out the egg again?" he asked.

Sirius seemed a bit embarrassed as he answered. "I, uh, got annoyed and pitched it in the pool. I realised it was singing when I stuck my head in after it, up till then I thought it was just music, well, after it went under. Before then it sounded like a banshee competing with Molly Weasley."

Harry looked up the ramp and tunnel towards their weyr... and the Black Lake. "Merfolk," he said. "I doubt the giant squid can carry a tune, and grindylows are not musically inclined. As for what they'll take... I can't think of anything I'll miss that bad. Well, Hermione, but she's not a _thing._" He got a good, solid hug for that. "Hmm, that feels good. At least we don't have to worry too much about the plan."

Sirius puzzled look made them chuckle. "What's our favourite food, Sirius?" Hermione asked.

"Shark," answered the animagus promptly. "Why?"

"And do you think those sharks come willingly, or do we have to chase them down?"

The knut dropped. "You mean... you can both breathe underwater." It was such a simple thing, but it changed the whole game drastically. "And if you can catch sharks, you can probably swim pretty well too. But how would you find each other?"

Harry fielded this question. "Even if we didn't have the mating-bond," he said, "we each have a keen sense of smell. Not up to that of a shark in the water, but good enough."

* * *

After bringing Sirius up to speed (oddly, the Marauder didn't start to party when he heard what had happened to the surly Potions master), the Crimson Couple made their way up to their weyr, only for Hermione to race back down the ramp and glomp Sirius.

"I love the couch Sirius, thank you!"she babbled.

Sirius Black chuckled, and broke into laughter at Harry's plaintive "But I didn't order one of these yet!".

* * *

Harry and Hermione were studying in the library when they were approached by a slightly nervous Professor McGonagall, requesting Hermione's presence in the Headmaster's office. Cedric had tried to repay Harry the week before with a hint to the Gryffindor about the egg, but was glad it proved unnecessary. When his mate didn't return, Harry knew that the Second Task was beginning. He just hoped that the spells and magic they were using would hold out long enough. Turning to his text, Harry returned to his studies. "_Next, Care of Magical Creatures._"

Turning the page he paused at the heading. _Veela_. While this would help him understand things a little better, it was an odd coincidence.

Professor McGonagall had personally reviewed the hostage list and she noted some discrepancies. It was unavoidable, it seemed. Two of her Lions at the bottom of the Lake, along with the other two hostages, was bad enough. Not having the right hostages for each was just... wrong. It was vindictive and wilful sabotage, no less. Even if she was unable to revoke the entire tournament, something she'd always been against anyway, she could at least fix the hostage list. Especially since being rescued by the wrong hero would have had Miss Grange- wait, it was Lady Potter now, from what she'd been told by Amelia- in an extremely bad mood. When Welsh Reds were in a bad mood, it was best if they weren't around breakables, such as chairs, tables, trees, rocks, and castles...

* * *

The day of the Second Task began in the grey light of dawn, as Voldemort's agent stood watching. Dratted McGonagall. She'd almost totally scuppered his plans, but he'd managed a sort of makeshift measure, but he couldn't do too much or the whole game would be up. They were taking their places now, every Champion bar one worried about their missing someones. It had been tricky, but by arguing that they couldn't very well put two of the Champions at the bottom of the Lake, he'd managed to put the veela's sister down there, that should stir up trouble, given the usual problems between merfolk and veela. Then Diggory's ex had to go down there, as they couldn't very well put his parents in. But try as he might, he hadn't seen any way to convince others that any other than that Granger would do as Potter's hostage.

Fleur Delacour and her parents were beside themselves. Her little sister Gabrielle was missing, and her Headmistress was looking worried. Madame Maxime had shot down every attempt to get the young veela, eleven years old and barely able to make the cut-off for this school year as her first, as her Champion's hostage. Now it seemed that someone had gone ahead and done it anyway, and there was great danger in this. Although the terms of the task protected her somewhat, if the time limit was exceeded, poor Gabi might well be in grave danger.

Cedric looked around, puzzled. He could understand Fleur's agitation, and was searching the crowd to see who _his_ hostage might be. He couldn't see any of his loved ones missing...

Viktor didn't understand the problem with these people. They were putting that lovely young spitfire in danger, because of _one_ date they thought she was what he'd miss the most... True, her absence had been quickly noticed, and that was a facet he might enjoy exploring at some later point, but that wasn't the worst of it. He was a Quidditch player, so he understood somewhat the purpose of danger in entertainment. What really got his anger fired up was that they were doing this for an 'entertainment' that _no-one could see!_

Harry stood in the chill air, waiting for the signal to begin. He and Hermione had encountered what would be a significant problem. The spell that the Tournament committee was most likely to use broke down at differing rates, based on the strength of the magic involved, and the magical strength of the target. If they were a magical creature, it broke down faster. He wasn't as concerned for Hermione, as she was well able to take care of herself, but she was his Mine, and they had stolen her. It seemed that Dragons liked thieves as little as goblins did, but on a blood-deep, almost genetic level.

Hermione was bored. She'd woken up an hour ago, chained to a statue at the bottom of the Lake by her ankle. None of the merfolk had noticed as they circled all four hostages. The female half of the Crimson Couple surreptitiously glanced around her trying to spot the other hostages. To her left was Cho Chang, for some reason. Hermione didn't understand that, as the Chinese-descended girl was not someone any of the Champions would miss. On Hermione's right was a choice that made a little more sense, but Katie Bell had had one date with Viktor, besides the Yule Ball, and the Dragon doubted they knew each other well enough to miss each other yet. On the other side of Katie... a quick glance up at the circle of merfolk told her exactly where that circle was centred. The merfolk were excessively interested in the young veela at the centre of their circle...

Gabi was having a bad dream. It was cold, and getting colder, and her head hurt...


	15. Chapter 15

**On Crimson Wings.**

**Part 1 of The Heart of the Dragon.**

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Harry Potter, the world or the characters. They belong to J. , with gratitude for letting us play with them. The challenge comes from GoldenSteel, with gratitude for the ideas. The only thing I could lay claim to are the story and plotline, but that just seems greedy..._

Draconic Communication is indicated this way: ¤_**I'm a Dragon, too!**_¤

Care of Magical Creatures fact (for this world, anyway): The singular of merfolk, is merrow (pronounced Mur-roh).

**Chapter 15: Second Task and More...**

When the cannon-blast charm went off, Harry just threw himself forwards in a flat dive while everyone else was still casting their initial spells. Behind him as he knifed through the air, before he submerged far enough to distort his hearing, he heard two voices incanting the Bubble-head charm, a decent spell if you were a practised swimmer. It sounded like Fleur and Cedric. Krum was casting something else, and Harry found it unfamiliar. The incantation ran "Convertens Caetus", though, and Harry didn't understand enough Latin to figure out what the Durmstrang Champion had done. He just hoped it didn't come back to bite them...

Harry powered in the direction he felt Hermione to be in, leaving the others behind him. Through their link, he could tell she was getting anxious, which meant that her draconic resistance where magic was concerned was going strong, and she'd already woken up. Her anxiety was most likely for him, or someone else. His Hermione was more than a match for _merfolk_.

* * *

Cedric had lost sight of Harry as soon as the boy had hit the lakeweed forest. He swam as hard as he could, but Harry simply had him outclassed. As Fleur passed him, he reflected that it must be due to them knowing who they were missing. As he strove to keep up with the veela, he wondered who he was supposed to rescue. Fleur was there in front of him, and his parents and little sister were both up on the platform. He simply couldn't imagine who they'd grabbed for him.

As a dark figure rushed past, he thought it was Krum, half-transfigured into a shark, he swam harder. Even if his hostage wasn't someone he'd miss, maybe he could help Fleur with hers...

* * *

Fleur was losing speed fast. She'd just gotten inside the lakeweed forest when her strength, born of desperation, began to drain out of her. She was tired to the bone and getting worse. As the grindylows swarmed out of the kelp, she fumbled out her wand, stunning which ones she could, knowing she... and by extension Gabrielle, now that she knew there were merfolk in this lake... were doomed. As the creatures continued to pursue her, she saw the dark shape of Viktor shoot past. At least, she thought it was Viktor. When the creatures renewed their assault, she could feel the strength fall from her even faster. She'd been too active down here for too long...

If she wasn't expecting the echoing flood of magic that accompanied Cedric's "Immobulus", the grindylows were just as surprised, freezing in place as the Hufflepuff hero swam in, and pushed her towards the surface. Fleur struggled against it, gesticulating wildly in the direction her wand had been leading her. "Ma soeur..." she gasped, before she realised that he couldn't understand, with the water's distortion and the language difference.

Cedric tapped her shoulder, and waved downward while pointing at her, indicating... a smaller veela? She nodded, and patted her breast. As he blushed, she realised what she'd done. He replied, in a manner of speaking. He thumped his own chest and pointed onwards, then her shoulder while pointing up. He would save her little sister, while she returned to the surface. She didn't have the strength left to argue, and nodded as let herself drift slowly upwards.

* * *

Harry burst from the lakeweed, driving himself through the water until he saw the merfolk village. He could see them circling, but rather than just circling all the hostages, they seemed to have focused on the tiny form of the youngest hostage, whose shivering told him something was wrong. Further, Hermione was awake, and she had 'drifted' herself as close as she dared to the little veela. Veela! Harry's eyes widened as he realised what was happening. The spells which had worn off Hermione much earlier, had almost worn off the french hostage! If they disappeared...

His mind recalled the pages of his research over the past week. Veela were said to be related to the sirens of Ancient Greek mythology, but something had felt off about that. The sirens dwelt on an island and sang sailors into the ocean, which aligned them with water and air, while the veela were aligned with air and fire. For most creatures of fire, water was bad... cold water (such as, say, that in a Scottish lake in February...) was worse. That little girl was in real danger.

Harry threw himself into motion, identifying Katie and... was that Cho Chang? Why would she be there? Shrugging off the thought, he powered toward _his_ Mine.

* * *

Hermione didn't know what to do. She'd been watching the spells on the poor little veela girl failing, a little at a time, strained by her nature, and the protections being overworked. If she moved too soon, she would be badly outnumbered, and even if she went full Dragon, she didn't think she could hold them all off. When she saw Harry powering through the water towards her, her heart, _their_ hearts, skipped a beat. With him here, things changed. She rumbled out in a language she knew he'd hear, even down here.

¤_**Harry! Hurry up! This cold water is killing her, and I think the merfolk want that!**_¤ she roared, and her mate nodded.

¤_**I've got an idea, Mine,**_¤ he replied, ¤_**but we have to hold out a bit.**_¤

* * *

When Krum raced out of the weeds a few minutes after, he was greeted by the sight of Harry and his hostage, now freed, hovering very close to one of the others, a young veela by the look of it. There was a distortion in the water there, that seemed to come from his fellow Champion's mouth. He charged forwards to get to his hostage, and found Katie drifting free, The merfolk were, apparently, angry at the couple, for some reason, although Hermione's glaring seemed enough to hold them back... for now. Dashing in, he grabbed Katie, and raced towards the starting platform.

Harry felt the ripples in the water as Krum left, towing Katie. ¤_**Was I right?**_¤ he asked his mate. She nodded. Krum's spell had indeed turned into a shark-man hybrid... and he kept reminding her she hadn't had breakfast yet...

Cedric's arrival mere minutes afterward was not as dramatic as Krum's. He'd had to pause to cast warming charms on himself a couple of times, and that had cost him time. As he swam he spotted the youngest Champion and his hostage, keeping guard over the youngest hostage. They'd obviously noticed something was wrong and stuck around to help... but why was Granger awake? When Krum had gone past in the other direction, the still form of Katie Bell had convinced him that stasis charms were involved... A he moved towards them, he was intercepted by a merrow armed with a spear, blocking his path and pointing off to one side, at... Cho? Why would they think he'd miss her? He shook his head, and went to gather her form, and the swam back towards the others, again intercepted, and the gestures told him to leave, emphatically. The merrow moved his spear to a fighting position, and Cedric's eyes narrowed as he let 'his' hostage drift out of harm's way. He'd made a promise. Beyond 'his' merrow, the others brought their spears to bear and charged as the one-hour gong echoed through the water...

Hermione's voice rumbled at Harry. ¤_**Now?**_¤

He nodded, and ceased streaming the stop-gap measure of heated water (poured across his breath through his double-chambered throat) at the immature veela. Then the two of them began to change. Cedric almost could not believe his eyes as their true forms emerged from their human shells, growing rapidly, until he was faced with the two Dragons he and Fleur had seen in a mating dance above the Black Lake at the Yule Ball...

Harry's spat-out exhalation of fire that burned even here, flash boiling the water around it, was the warning shot, as it played over the spear of the nearest merrow, both vaporizing the head, and heating the metal haft to a cherry-red glow, despite the quenching effect of the water, while the fanned-out blades of his tail's spade sliced through the haft of a half-dozen more. Hermione wasn't idle either, pulling the young veela in close to her extremely hot body (in two senses of the word hot, Harry thought), as she drove her own tail in an arc, the blades of _her_ spade severing spearheads as her breath seared out in a near-miss warning shot at the most-important-looking merrow, one wearing what could have been intended to be a crown. If the 'crown' had been any sturdier, the mere passage of her breath would not have torn it apart.

As the merfolk decided this was too much and scattered, Cedric looked on in awe, and the two Great Dragons glared after the fleeing merfolk, the Crimson Couple began squeezing themselves back into human form as they took the little veela between them and swam towards him. As they all drew closer to the surface, Harry took Hermione in his arms as Cedric brought the little Veela, who was starting to stir, and swam for the platform. As the Crimson couple reached the ladder, the raven-haired young man realised something... they'd all forgotten Cho...

* * *

After Harry had quickly dashed back and brought up the drifting form of Cho Chang, he and Hermione climbed from the lake. Fleur was holding her little sister tight in an embrace,as her other hand refused to let go of Cedric's hand, and Viktor and Katie were whispering quietly on another corner of the platform, while Cho glared at her ex-boyfriend and the French witches. The other judges were conversing with Dumbledore, who had a baffled expression on his face. Either something hadn't gone as he planned, or he was having another 'butterfly moment'. Turning to face the crowd, he began to speak, but before he could get a word out, Hermione's nostrils flared as the sickening scent of Polyjuice Potion invaded her senses.

Voldemort's agent was being careful. He'd stayed as far from the Dragons as possible, and taken to dousing his stolen form with a little firewhiskey to help hide his scent. But the platform wasn't that big, and as he unscrewed the cap of his flask to swallow his hourly dose, he was too close. Hermione reached out, knowing her wand was in Professor McGonagall's pocket, and muttered "Accio Polyjuice!"

The flask that leapt from Alastor Moody's hand flashed across the space between them, slapping into her hand as she held it up. Offering the flask to Professor McGonagall, she spoke. "If this isn't Polyjuice, Professor, I'll eat my wand. I remember Professor Snape said something about missing Polyjuice ingredients in one of our classes, so..."

Voldemort's agent panicked. If he'd been compromised in any other place, he could have disillusioned himself and fled, but the platform held too many people, he was certain to run into one, and a disillusioned swimmer still left a hole in the water. Taking a hostage was out, the closest person was Potter, and that would have been suicidal. Hogwarts' wards extended this far, and then some, so apparation wasn't an option either. He could feel the Polyjuice wearing off, and decided to muddy the waters. Everything was set up on this end anyway, so his life was a small price to pay to resurrect the Dark Lord... He drew his wand, pressed it under his chin and said his final words, fueled by his hatred for these weaklings around him.

"Avada Kedavra."

* * *

The body of 'Alastor Moody' collapsed to the platform like a discarded toy, and the spell he'd just cast was well-known enough for panic to hit. As the Delacours huddled together near the Diggorys, Cedric standing between them and the crowd, as Viktor held Katie close and moved to where their parents crouched, fear and chaos ruled, and Dumbledore's attempt at peace-making was faltering at best. McGonagall's authority wasn't up to the task as she was just a Deputy and since it wasn't medical in nature, Pomfrey couldn't take charge either.

"QUIET!" It took a few moments of silence for anyone to realise who had spoken, and Amelia Bones took advantage of those. "Aurors, stand down. It was a self-inflicted Killing Curse, the target's down, and if he had back-up, he would have hit some-one else. You, hit-wizard, put your wand away, there's no-one to cast at. Shacklebolt, check the body, Tonks, perimeter. Take Fenton, he's got good eyes. And if that's Polyjuice, where's the real Moody?"

* * *

"It was the work of minutes for Harry to locate the dot for Alastor Moody in his office on the Marauder's Map, once he'd gotten back to his dorm and collected it. Now they just had to figure out how to tell people. Approaching Madam Bones was simple enough, and Harry'd felt a... warmth, not love, but a form of trust... towards her for her words the day he'd almost broken down over Snape. How to couch their words so as not to give the whole game away, though, now that was another matter...

It was Hermione who came up with the answer to that. "Madam Bones," she asked as if puzzling over something, "from what I've read, any magical storage is hard to locate, yes?" At the DMLE Head's nod, she went on. "And in order to put something _in_ such a storage, you need to be able to fit them through the opening, and transfiguring someone means you can't acquire hairs for Polyjuice. So we're looking for something you can put someone of Pr... I mean Mister Moody's build through, but the only thing I've ever seen the fake with that matches that description is that trunk of his. If he was the best auror ever, wouldn't it have a compartment big enough to be a cell?" A few minutes later, the aurors confirmed her guess. No-one was going to get their scores tonight...

* * *

Cedric stared at Harry. He'd demanded answers for what had happened in the lake, and Harry had asked him to wait until everything else had been sorted. With the real Moody rescued, and under the tender ministrations of Madam Pomfrey (the grizzled ex-auror had taken one look at the mediwitch and asked if he could go back in the trunk, please), he and Hermione had come to Cedric and Fleur, and her family, who were _not _letting either child out of their sight and requested they follow them. Gabrielle had been talking about her dream, where she was covered in snow and getting colder and colder, and then a big dragon had come and helped her keep warm until her sister's special friend could save her, and that meant Fleur should marry him right away, so she could be an aunty. Half of it was in French, and it surprised Harry for a moment that he understood it, until he realised that it was due to his shared knowledge with Hermione, who was passably fluent (in her own judgement).

As they led the way to the second floor, drawing curious looks from Cedric and the Delacours as they did, and a querying glance from Madame Maxime at the head table, they heard the sound of flesh striking flesh, an open-handed slap that echoed to their location, followed by a familiar voice crying in pain. Daphne's voice. Their friend was in trouble, and Harry glanced at Hermione. "You go," she said. "Meet us at the door."

Hermione was leading their guests towards Moaning Myrtle's door as Harry reached the stairs that led to the upper floors... or that should have. Currently, they were out of alignment to where he needed to go. He could hear what was happening, and had to make it in time, or who knew what would happen... Steeling himself as he hauled his robes off and dropped them to the floor, he began the most uncomfortable of the partial transformations, one that could hurt until you tore through the clothing in the way, if any: wings and tail...

* * *

Daphne Greengrass had thought it safe enough, with Draco wearing a monitor band, to step out from the Slytherin shadows and start making friends other than her little sister Astoria and her good friend Tracy Davis. Tracy had not believed that Harry was innocent of putting his name in for the Tournament, but she wasn't fighting with her friend over it. She was at least willing to hear the evidence. Unfortunately, Malfoy, the berk, had managed to shoot down all attempts to investigate the claims of his 'arch-enemy'. As a Slytherin, those three knew exactly what that meant. When the Malfoy scion blocked her path to the dungeons, along with the 'troll twins', Crabbe and Goyle, she knew something was wrong.

"Let me by, Malfoy," she demanded, leaning heavily on her 'Ice Queen' persona. "You know what it'll mean if you don't." She looked pointedly at the band on the boy's wrist.

The blonde glanced off-handedly at the article, dismissing its relevance. "Did you know that these things are only as good as the auror on the other end?" he asked idly, as he took a piece of parchment from his pocket and looked at it. "Father managed to get me a copy of the duty roster. I'd say we have thirty minutes. You're lucky." At his nod, Goyle snatched her wand and Crabbe grabbed her arm. Draco led the way as his goons dragged her behind him. "We barely have the time to leave our message, or I'd have them play with you."

They'd managed to get her up to the Astronomy Tower, and Draco smirked at her. "Of course, you get one last chance," he leered. "Swear on your life and magic to be loyal to me above all others and you get to live... if you can call it living..."

As he trailed one hand down her cheek, with her striving not to shudder at the disgusting feelings he evoked, she spat in his eye, and introduced her knee to his nads at rather high speed, aiming to see them pop from his back, and she almost managed it. Draco went down with a faint, mouse-like squeak, and Goyle back-handed her, making her yell in pain as she stumbled to the edge of the tower...

Harry burst through the door, his wings powering him forwards as he reached the top of the tower in time to see one of his few friends teetering on the edge of the parapet as Draco knelt, clutching at his injured bits. With their attention elsewhere, he didn't want his secret getting out, and shifted completely to Dragon as Daphne lost her battle with gravity and inertia, and fell.

* * *

She was barely a floor down when something grabbed her arm, and she stopped for a moment with a jerk, meeting the dream-filled yet Lucid gaze of Luna for a fraction of a second before they _both_ continued to fall. Despite their predicament, and although Daphne herself was very emphatic in her terror, Luna seemed to act like it was just a day at the beach...

* * *

Having seen Daphne fall, Harry ignored the three Slytherins who stared in stunned horror, soiling themselves as he passed them, his dragonfear radiating from him. He went over the side and stroked his wings to catch up, seeing Luna catch Daphne's fall momentarily. If she hadn't, the Slytherin girl would have hit the ground before Harry could catch her, but now...

Forcing himself to dive faster, he swooped beneath them, matching speeds as best he could, snapping his wings out bare feet before impact, pulling himself out of the dive at speed, straining hard as his belly passed mere inches from the grass as he raced outwards, above the lake, in a wide turn to bleed off the speed from the plummet and circled towards the weyr, his wings in agony from the strain.

* * *

Hermione felt the fear for others in their link. Cursing fate that Harry couldn't seem to catch a break, even as a Dragon, she made a quick decision. "Drat," she said. I was hoping that we could do this gently..." Turning to the Delacours and Cedric, she spoke quick, commanding instead of wheedling or explaining. "I'm going to lead you into the Chamber of Secrets. There are things you need to know, but an emergency has come up and Harry needs me. There are some very important secrets involved, so once you're in, you stay there until everything's explained. Okay?"

Receiving no objection, she led the way into the bathroom that housed the entrance. Hissing to open it, she wasted no time in leaping in, and kept going through the second door she commanded to open. A quick glance behind her showed the Delacours and the Hufflepuff still following as she charged through the Chamber, past a big black dog ("Clean yourself later, Paddy, we have company!") and up the ramp-like tunnel on the far side.

As Cedric and the Delacours reached the top of the ramp, much at the same time as the dog, they saw the vast wings of the Welsh Red above the lake, caught in the moonlight as it turned to approach the open side of the cave they now stood in. There were two small figures, clinging there on its back as it rushed towards them, unable to slow. Hermione could tell that he was hurting, and made her choice.

"I need the strongest cushioning charms you can cast against _that_ wall," she ordered as she flung her robe at the wall in question, and every wand in the Delacour family hastened to comply, even as she continued. "Then I want you all in the ramp-tunnel or the Chamber. Just... don't panic, alright?" At that point, she began to shift. Cedric hadn't seen this clearly before, and the Delacours were used to the sudden, lightning-swift transformation of a veela. While Hermione's metamorphosis was quick, it wasn't that fast, and as her true form swelled up from her human shape, one phrase passed through all their minds, even Cedric's (who'd been picking up a lot of French from Fleur).

"Sacre Bleu!"

* * *

Harry watched as Hermione shifted, and saw what she was planning to do. He heard her commands, and saw as the Delacours plastered the back wall of the weyr with cushioning charms. They wouldn't hold long once he'd hit them, but they would hold long enough. Not that he had much choice. He shrugged his shoulders, ignoring the bite of pain as the overworked wings complained. Feeling the motion, the two girls clinging to his back looked ahead and braced themselves.

Things might have gotten really messy, had not little Gabrielle Delacour turned as she was going down the ramp, seen Hermione bracing her draconic form to catch Harry's and thrown one last spell at the exact moment it would do the most good. Her high-toned young voice rang as she cast. "Culcita pulverum!"

The spell cushioned the impact of the two Dragons, preventing them from injuring themselves, and as they slid across the room to hit the cushioned wall, the onlookers noticed the two girls on the Dragon's back were being cushioned and protected by both wyrms. Indeed, they looked somewhat familiar as they pulled themselves from the pile against the wall...


	16. Chapter 16

**On Crimson Wings.**

**Part 1 of The Heart of the Dragon.**

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Harry Potter, the world or the characters. They belong to J. , with gratitude for letting us play with them. The challenge comes from GoldenSteel, with gratitude for the ideas. The only thing I could lay claim to are the story and plotline, but that just seems greedy..._

Draconic Communication is indicated this way: ¤_**I'm a Dragon, too!**_¤

Care of Magical Creatures fact (for this world, anyway): The singular of merfolk, is merrow (pronounced Mur-roh).

**Chapter 16: Reaction and Action.**

"CRUCIO!"

Peter Pettigrew, referred to far more often as Wormtail, an insulting reference to his animagus form, thrashed on the floor in agony. When Barty Crouch Junior had killed himself, the Dark Lord had known at once. He did not handle disappointment or failure well. When he released the pain-wracked wizard, it wasn't from mercy. Rather, it was solely due to the fact that he didn't trust any of his other Death Eaters who remained free with the secret of his current weakness. Even what he'd just done to Peter had a price, and if that price got too high, he might not have enough power to perform the ritual to give himself a useful body. Wormtail's potion, although somewhat restorative to his magical core, were as reliable as he was.

While the lesser wizard lay there, twitching on the floor, the homunculus that was his master began giving orders...

* * *

Hermione opened her eyes. She was pressed close in to Harry, and the two girls clinging to his back were somehow tucked beneath her wing. Curled around her, his own wings limp against the floor, searing hot caustic blood dripping from the torn leather of the flight membrane on his right wing, her mate was firmly unconscious, having somehow intuited exactly what she'd been trying to do and somehow managing to twist himself in such a manner as to take the brunt of the impact anyway. He needed help, and despite all she'd learned and all she knew, she couldn't help him now... she didn't know enough. As she began to shrink down, squeezing herself back into human form, she noticed their guests, as they rushed forward to help.

Gabrielle Delacour wasn't able to explain _why_ she'd thrown that last cushioning charm, not even to herself, and as she and her family moved toward the Great Dragon sprawled on the cave floor, careful to avoid the burning, acidic pools of his blood that dripped from his wings to sear the stone beneath him, her mind was racing, trying out reason after reason, and coming up blank. "_Maman and Fleur are 'ealing 'is wings_" she mused as those two veela went to work with their wands, "_Papa and m'sieu Cedric are helping mam'selle 'Ermione, so I can 'elp ze ozerr girls._" Suiting thought to action, she ducked under the neck even as Cedric and her father lifted it so the witch who had become a Dragon, but was now a witch again, could struggle out from under it. She barely managed to cushion the two as the girl reverted to a human form slowly, and she felt something then... almost definable, almost tangible... a kinship, perhaps? Was that the right word?

The older girl gave off an aura not unlike Gabrielle's own, although it was more of ice than of fire, and the other, the younger had an aura that tasted of rainbows and dreamsongs... A synaesthetic aura? Those only occurred in the the rarest of seers, the Lucid Oracles! They were saved by a Great One that had saved _her_ according to her sister, with the help of Cedric, and the bushy-haired girl was another Great One, the mate of their rescuer! Even as her young mind raced with all the possibilities, all the things such an event could mean, the little Oracle, no older than Gabrielle herself, opened her dream-filled sapphire eyes and met the young veela's gaze... and smiled. "There you are," she said, and collapsed into Gabrielle's arms.

Hermione was having no trouble holding up Daphne, and the blonde Slytherin opened her eyes in panic, the first thoughts not of herself, but another... "TORI!" she screamed. "We've got to help Tori, they'll go after her!"

Hermione gently placed the 'Ice Queen' of the House of Cunning on the dragon-sized couch. "Don't worry," she said quietly, as Harry struggled to rise, gently and painfully furling his wings and starting to shift, before cutting it short and reverting to dragon-form. The injuries were interfering with his ability to shift, and although the spells of the Delacours had been helping, he needed rest before he could be of use. "Tori's _my_ friend, too. As she is one of ours, we'll protect her. Just stay here and keep an eye on Harry for me."

¤_**Hermione, just... be careful...**_¤ Harry rumbled as his mate ran to the mouth of the weyr and flung her shifting body into the sky.

* * *

Astoria Greengrass had wondered where her sister had gone, but as the younger sister, was surrounded by her 'friends' from Slytherin, and couldn't just jump up and chase off looking for her. When Luna Lovegood had stood and jogged her barefoot way towards the Astronomy Tower from the middle of a conversation with Padma Patil, the younger Greengrass could stand it no longer, and made her excuses, and followed. She'd arrived in the Astronomy Tower in time to see the tiny Ravenclaw stretch out of the sixth floor window... and catch hold of Daphne's arm! This halted the older Slytherin's fall for a moment before Luna was dragged through the window by Daphne's weight. Tori had stifled her scream at the first, but it escaped at the second.

Before the echoes could even begin to sound, a massive red shape had raced past the window, and as Harry (those red-black scales could be no-one else) caught the two damsels in distress, the girl turned and had just made it to the staircase when she heard Malfoy's voice, a _little_ higher-pitched than she was used to hearing.

"Oh, look, the little Greengrass," he'd snarled, his voice cracking on 'little'. "Goyle, fetch."

Tori, little blonde spitfire that she might have been, was more than cunning enough to recognise a fight she couldn't win, and ran. The three boys had given chase, and as the girl ran through the halls of the castle, managed to keep enough pressure on her to herd her, finally cornering her in the third floor gallery overlooking the lake, the large corridor giving them the advantage, her only escape the wide arches, although that led to a massive drop.

As Draco and his henchmen slowly closed in, prolonging her fear for their own enjoyment, drawing out her uncertainty... she knew what they were likely to do, and no-one would tell...

None of them were expecting the afternoon sunlight to be blocked, quite thoroughly, by the rust-red form of a Dragon. The castle shook as the wyrm grasped the edge of the arch behind Astoria with her hind claws and one of the pillars with a fore-claw. As she closed her remaining claw around Tori, who was barely able to control her fear, even knowing this was a rescue, her tail, with the five blades of her spade fanned out, swept in an arc at the three Slytherins. "_Hermione must be holding back,_" the Slytherin thought idly, as the ties of the boys' uniforms fluttered to the floor, where they were quickly stained by the spreading pools of yellow liquid that Hermione's dragonfear evoked the bullies to release.

A snort, a gush of fire that dried the floor and incinerated the stained scraps of cloth, and Hermione and Astoria were gone.

* * *

Apolline Delacour watched her daughters as they helped the two other girls to make themselves comfortable on the massive couch, even as that nice young man, Diggory she thought the name was, helped her and her dear Claude-Sebastian 'assist' the Dragon that she'd been assured was actually the young Harry Potter to find a position on the cushions that made up the main nest in the weyr. Harry's voice rumbled loudly, but he managed to speak in English, as he struggled to speak normally.

"_**It's not as comfortable as a big pit of sand,**_" he commented, if with a little more volume than he meant. "_**But we can conjure them when we need to.**_" He broke off the conversation as Hermione swooped into the weyr, back-winging to a much less abrupt landing than his, before putting a pale-looking Astoria on the floor. The younger Greengrass sister was barely released before she darted over to her older sibling, throwing herself into her arms and sobbing with the release of built-up emotion. Hermione nuzzled at Harry's cheek, then lay down beside him as she pushed herself back down into human form, waving at the cushions around them.

"We've got a couple of hours, so make yourselves comfortable, please," she said. "This chapter of our story begins on a certain train ride to a certain school...

* * *

Daphne and Astoria had heard parts of the tale before, and so could contribute to it, while Cedric and Fleur could speak of what they'd seen and heard in the tasks. The Crimson Couple, however, chose to leave certain information out, such as the presence of other Great Dragons at Hogwarts. It made for gaps in the story, but Harry's line, "It's not our tale to tell", was sufficient to hold the questions at bay.

Both adult Delacours were grateful for their daughter's lives, and Claude-Sebastian, being the French equivalent of Amelia Bones, provided the young wyrms with certain interesting information about the laws as regards Great Dragons.

"For ze las' twenty years," he explained, "someone, we 'ave no idea 'oo, 'as been slowly removing ze restrictions on ze Great Ones 'ere in ze British Isles. 'e could not abate certain aspects of ze laws, such as ze dangerous creature ratings," the two wyrms snorted at that point ("_**Wouldn't want them to drop that,**_" Harry commented), "and ze laws to allow confiscation of ze 'oards were only lessened, such zat zere must be threatening behaviour before ze British Ministry can attempt to claim zem." He paused, his throat dry, and Daphne conjured a glass and used an 'aguamenti' to fill it with chilled water, which raised the eyebrows of all the veela.

Daphne wasn't sure that she liked this. "What? What's wrong?" she asked, a little nervous.

Apolline turned to Tori, examining her in as much detail as her sister. "It is zere," she mused aloud. "Zey could be... but zat is so rare, so... zere are no words..."

Hermione rolled to a standing position. "What do you mean?"

"Zey 'ave ze blood," murmured the older witch. "Ze features, zey could be veela... but zey do not feel of fire as we do... instead zey are of ze snow, and ze frost. Zey are... givre-ailes. In ze English, frostwings."

* * *

Charlie Weasley watched as the hatchlings of the Hungarian Horntail used as Harry's opponent in the first task hatched. During the return to Romania, the clutch had been transported much as had the others, but there was a warmth to them, a heat that wasn't there for the other clutches. The other dragons had been selected from other reserves, but even with magic, such a task as transporting dragons took time. He just wanted to be sure that the eggs were unharmed.

The mother Horntail also watched her clutch anxiously, and the handlers had supplied the meat for the hatchlings. A female Horntail's clutch usually produced a handful of eggs, one or two of which would actually hatch. The eggshells were as resistant to magic as dragonhide, and so there was no way to tell exactly how many eggs would hatch, but that was how it usually worked. The Horntail in question had clutched eight. Such an event had been a source of pride for Charlie, as her handler, who had credited a lot of what he knew to Rubeus Hagrid, and a source of envy for several other reserves. They might even be so lucky as to get _three _hatchlings...

At first he couldn't believe his eyes. This was impossible... no, wait, just unprecedented... or was it? Someone would have to search the records, but that was for later... As the second son of Arthur and Molly Weasley ran from the hatching pit, calling for more meat, there were _eight_ eggs rocking in place, cracking a little, as the little bronze horns of the occupants aided their escape from the confinement of their shells...

* * *

Harry and Hermione seated themselves for dinner in the Great Hall. Having heard of the frostwing blood within two of their friends had been a shock, to everyone involved. Enough so that all parties agreed not to discuss any of it outside the weyr. Veela were classified Dark creatures by the British Ministry, it was explained, and only the fact that they were citizens of France kept the Delacour ladies safe from their bigotry. "Zey are wrong when zey say veela descend from ze sirens," Apolline had declaimed. "We are all descended from the daughters of ze fire-bird, Karina, and her human husband Illya Baranovich. Ze frostwings are born of ze line of her sister ze snowbird and Illya's blood-brother, Nikolai Dante. We are cousins, in a manner of speaking, but where our gifts are air and fire, zey are wind and snow... we veela can draw men with our gifts, to raise zeir... passions, and not always at our wish, but ze frostwings can chill zose ardours..."

While such a gift explained the Greengrass sisters' nicknames, the Ice Queen for Daphne and the Frost Princess for Tori, and gave them a reason to sit with their cousins (albeit to an unbelievable degree of removal), it also presented certain worries. The Greengrass family was a patriarchal one, and the chances that any of them would have sons was vanishingly small... much like the situation for veela. The Delacours had offered to contact the parents in question for the purpose of discussing this bloodline.

The commotion outside the Hall was unexpected, and the sudden entrance of the Minister for Magic, surrounded not only by a dozen aurors, but by six individuals in what seemed to be very old dragonhide, two in black, three in blue and a single man in white, each of whom bore a strange crest on their robes. As he marched to the centre of the Hall, the Minister drew a scroll from his pockets. Standing there he began to read.

"It being proven that creatures in an area are a threat to the wizards and witches therein, by sworn statements from Draco Malfoy, Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe, as to the loss of both daughters of the House of Greengrass here in Hogwarts, we call forth the sons of Houses Weasley and Potter to take up their hereditary duty and arms as appointed hunters of these foul and loathesome creatures. We call out warrant of slaughter of the two discoloured dragons that are purported as the extinct line of Welsh Reds, and set forth the standard bounty on these creatures. Further, the hoards of these creatures are forfeit to the Ministry, saving only the one-seventh tithe to those who bring in the creatures' heads. Proclaimed this hour by Cornelius Fudge Minister of Magic for the British Isles."

Silence reigned in the Hall, silence that the Minister took as awe of his swift reactions, while Draco and his minions preened. A silence broken when the two Slytherins seated with their Beauxbatons cousins rose and called out their objections.

Daphne's voice rang with derisive authority. "Minister Fudge, your initial statements are blatantly false. Whoever said that my sister and I were abducted by the Dragons that dwell in this valley somewhere has led you rather badly astray, maybe even on purpose."

Tori's announcement was no different. "I was _rescued_ from those three... _boys_..." she growled, "who had left me with no doubt of what they were going to do to me. The fact that my rescuer was a Dragon was a happy accident."

Flustered and angry that these girls should dare to contradict him, Fudge blustered forwards. "The proclamation has been made, and will _not_ be retracted!" he shouted, turning on his heel as that Potter boy stood.

"Excuse me, Minister," he called out. "I have several problems with your statement. The reason for the proclamation is null and void, because the purported loss does not exist. With no reason to issue this proclamation, you have committed the crime of abusing your authority. While there is nothing to stop you keeping this as decreed, there is nothing enforcing us to obey it, either."

Fudge couldn't believe his luck! Not only did the Boy-Who-Lived, give him a way to bring him down, he did it in front of everyone! This would be a good day indeed... Striking an imperious pose (or so _he_ thought, everyone else mentally compared him to a constipated monkey), he gave his orders. "Arrest that boy for treason."

Amelia Bones couldn't believe her eyes and ears. Surely not even Cornelius could be so stupid, could he? Apparently he could. He hadn't even noticed her, seated at the Hufflepuff table with her niece Susan and Susan's friends Hannah and Neville Longbottom, who was visiting from the Gryffindor table. As the two closest aurors stepped forward reluctantly, Amelia rose, literally shaking with anger. "Belay that!" she roared, and the two aurors froze with relief. "There are no charges against Lord Potter. He raised a point of law, nothing more. A point the Minister should be well aware of." Fudge was stuttering, stammering out a vague protest. "Should you have proceeded, it would have certainly cost you your rank, possibly your career. All aurors, return to station." She turned to the others. Specifically the man in white. "MacNair. I can't order your lot around, but for your sake they'd best leave this castle right quickly, or I'll have them done for trespassing."

MacNair sneered. "That's right, you can't order us. There's dragons here, and that's as much my jurisdiction as yours. While we're in our kit, us D-squads don't answer to DMLE for anything." He waved at the walls. "Them big lizards are as good as ours." He seemed unaware of the glares he was getting from around the Hall. Bryn and Kolya in particular glared at the killers in dragonhide, as if the colours of their robes were a personal insult. Given the age of those robes, and the colours of the foreign wyrms, perhaps it was. As the 'D-squad' filed from the Hall, the various wyrms all glanced to each other and nodded. This was a war now, one with two fronts... but whether Voldemort or the Ministry's greed was worse, only time would tell...

* * *

Harry stood at the edge of the weyr, staring out at the moon over the lake. He'd brought his trunk and all of his things down here. He'd mentioned to Professor McGonagall that even once the Quidditch returned next year, he would not be on the team. He was certain he'd catch jolly hell from Wood about that, but his broom no longer felt the same. Looking over his shoulder at his mate, who was putting her trunk and things in place (the Marauder's Map being handy, but not as good as his Invisibility Cloak, she'd arrived a few minutes after him), he hummed a broken snatch of song, which one he wasn't sure, and moved to take her in his arms.

She responded by turning to him, embracing him in turn, and searing his lips with a passionate kiss. After an eternity that lasted a few minutes, they walked slowly to the cushions. "So," Hermione began, "where do we go from here? I mean, look at the irony... I turn you into a Dragon by accident, and the Ministry demands that you hunt them. Well, you and the Weasley boys. Are you even trained for this? No, but they want you to do it anyway." She growled with frustration at the world.

Harry smiled. "Mine, if this had happened _before_ my inheritance the day you made us what we are, I might have believed them. But Fangblade gave me a manual to guide me in my new responsibilities, at only a ten percent mark-up." Here his mate rolled her eyes (goblins were fascinated by war and gold... and not always in that order). "It's true my ancestors often hunted Dragons, but they only did so if there was no other way. Something about an ancient prophecy about the House falling to Dragons, and Arthur's line returning, or something like that."

They turned once more towards the weyr's mouth looking for the signs of aurors, hit-wizards and hunters. The times ahead would not be easy, but they were together.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore glared at the bowl on his desk. Someone had been stealing his lemon-drops, that was the only explanation. There was only one left, and he was sure there'd been three yesterday. Snatching it from the bowl, he popped it into his mouth and swallowed. No-one was taking this one from him... Wait, wasn't he supposed to be able to breathe? Coughing wasn't working, he couldn't reach his own back, what to do, what to do? He couldn't talk to call for a house-elf, the thing was lodged sideways in his throat, all he had left was his wand... and Fawkes! Yes, Fawkes would bring help! The edges of his vision were greying, darkening, and spots danced before his eyes... kind of pretty, actually...


	17. Chapter 17

**On Crimson Wings.**

**Part 1 of The Heart of the Dragon.**

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Harry Potter, the world or the characters. They belong to J. , with gratitude for letting us play with them. The challenge comes from GoldenSteel, with gratitude for the ideas. The only thing I could lay claim to are the story and plotline, but that just seems greedy..._

Draconic Communication is indicated this way: ¤_**I'm a Dragon, too!**_¤

**Chapter 17: These Things are Sent to Try Us.**

"What do you mean, I can't do that?" Upon hearing the Minister's words, madam Bones might have been forgiven for questioning her hearing... and the sanity of the people involved.

"I have been assured by Lucius that his son would never stoop to such behaviour, so you can't charge Draco with a crime that will negatively affect his reputation and future career," Fudge answered, as her anger grew. Today was a mess by anyone's estimate, and with Dumbledore found lying inches from death by one of the house-elves, there was no-one to call on for assistance on this. Personally, she had little doubt that Lucius' assurance was mostly round, yellow and heavy, and went 'clink'. But her niece was at that school, damn it! She was not going to let that... spawn of Malfoy get away with this. She simply couldn't see how.

"If you're telling me _not_ to press criminal charges against Draco Malfoy, then I'm going to have to arrest _you_ on charges of corruption," she stated. Unfortunately, she'd forgotten about the pink-clad 'witch' (she had yet to see the Minister's Under-secretary cast a spell) who had left the office after she'd entered.

"Hem-hem." The high voice, so out of place when matched with that face, combined with the 'clearing her throat' announcement of her presence, were two more strikes against her. "I'm afraid that you don't have that authority anymore, Amelia," Dolores Umbridge stated. "As of ten minutes ago, you have been removed from your position as Head of the DMLE for cause. To Whit, the harassment of a respectable pure-blood and abuse of your power in pursuit of the same." She smirked. "Your little power play ends here, and that half-blood girl will not be permitted to claim a pure-blood's place."

Amelia glared at the other witch. "That's the cauldron and the kettle, isn't it? You can't do that, Dolly, or did you forget we were both at school together? Unlike you, I _learned _what was taught, and went looking for more. The inheritance laws are sacrosanct, if you try meddling with them, the Crown steps in and the wizarding world is outed to the muggles. I'm fine with that, I've kept pace with their legal system, _which we would be forced to comply with_."

"Muggles are no match for wizards," the toad-like witch denounced. "Particularly pure-bloods."

"Then why is it that the top students for the past fifty years have been half-bloods and muggleborns? You say I'm fired, very well. Then I can devote my full time to my duties as the Regent of House Bones, including the Wizengamot." Amelia pulled no punches. "I'll see you then, _Dolly_."

* * *

When the Daily Sage delivered the news, people were lost. The Ministry had refused to charge a criminal, just because he was underage and his father said that he wouldn't do that? The Head of the DMLE, a woman who'd even received glowing commendations from the Prophet, was sacked for trying? What really grabbed their attention was the fact that a full third of the auror force walked off the job, throwing their badges in the fountain in the Ministry atrium as they left, rather than work under the person Fudge had appointed in her place: one Dolores Umbridge. The paper's new star reporter, Veracity Stands, printed a one-two article that listed the requirements for the position, and the requirements to get the chance to earn _those _requirements, and so on all the way back to OWLs. Umbridge had three OWLS. History of Magic (barely), Charms (Exceeds Expectations, a surprise to most) and Divination (again just scraping through). This was the bare minimum to keep her wand. She had never been an auror, nor a hit-wizard, nor even a lawyer or barrister. In short, she was woefully unqualified for her position. "_If this is typical of the workings of government_," the editor wrote, "_then I fear for magical Britain._"

The uproar in the Wizengamot was horrendous. The proxy votes from the Houses that were not present were the main problem. Dumbledore had managed to 'acquire' the right to use them, and his policy of leniency had been a disaster. With the Chief Warlock incapacitated, Madam Longbottom had been raised to that stature, and was busy trying to wield those proxies, although the Malfoys and their allies were blocking her, citing that the Chief Warlock wasn't dead yet, and therefore still held those proxies. The situation was simple, but devastating. Stagnation. The traditional 'Light' families were a little less than balanced against the more numerous 'Dark' ones, with the Potter and Black votes out of the picture. The only thing stopping Malfoy from running Wizarding Britain was the single Neutral House that broke ranks: The House of Greengrass.

Draco's attempts had been reported by both girls (along with all the additional information the Delacours had identified) to their father, Jasper Greengrass (from what they told the Crimson Couple, boys were given stone names and girls were given names alluding to trees). Incensed at what had almost happened to his girls, and at the fact that Malfoy seemed to be getting off scot free, he came down from the fence with a vengeance, planting himself and all his political clout on the side of the Light.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall sighed and rubbed her temples. Albus was unlikely to recover, Poppy had told her. He was still alive, still aware of what was going on around him, but the damage done to his brain through oxygen deprivation before Dobby had found him and transported him to the hospital wing was irreparable... they simply didn't have any potions or spells for healing that. It seemed likely that for the rest of his days, the mighty Albus Dumbledore would be unable to impose his will on others.

Of course, this made her the Headmistress, now. At least she was used to the paperwork. Even with Filius' assistance as her new deputy, she waded through the papers required for a new Potions teacher, a new Transfiguraton teacher, a new Defence teacher _and_ the long overdue updates to both Muggle Studies and History of Magic. On top of that there was the Triwizard Tournament, or what was left of it... Ludo Bagman had shown the Champions the beginnings of the maze today... and there were these Dragons in the valley, of course she knew they were Harry and Hermione, but she hoped few others did. She suspected there were more Dragons than just the two of them, though she had no evidence, and kept her eyes open.

Then there was Draco Malfoy. She wanted him gone, but Lucius Malfoy had somehow gotten himself appointed to the Board of Governors again, and was applying pressure to keep the little horror in the school. As she stared down at the lake, the old witch pondered, her mind settling on one thing many of her students had said.

"Meddle not in the affairs of Dragons... for you are crunchy and good with ketchup..."

* * *

Harry had had enough. Draco had attacked his friends, and didn't even get a slap on the wrist. He and Hermione had thought, when the news about Dumbledore had broken, that there would finally be justice within Hogwarts, but alas, the greed of Fudge had put paid to that, and the bullying prat wasn't even being expelled for it. As the teenage wyrms sat for dinner, they were approached by the Greengrass girls, who flatly refused to eat at their own tables... or go into the Slytherin dormitories. With Professor Sinistra taking charge as the Head of Slytherin House, things were supposed to get better, but the Malfoy scion still strutted about as if he owned the castle.

"_Speak of the devil,_" thought Hermione as said scion approached their table, "_and you're still thinking of someone better than Draco._" The vindictive boy stood right behind Daphne, who sat on Harry's left, across the table from Hermione.

"Come along Greengrass," the blond ponce said. "You don't want to shame your House with these... losers." He failed to see Harry's fists clench on is knife, mangling it out of shape in seconds. He then whispered in a voice pitched for only her to hear. "And once we have you both back in the dorms, you _and_ your sister will be paying me back for all his trouble... on your knees."

Draco's biggest mistake was in not accounting for those who might possess sharper than normal hearing, such as the Crimson Couple, or who were watching for exactly this type of move. His worst problem was that as Harry stood, he simply had to say something to make things worse.

"Oh, is she doing you as well, Scarhead? The Mudblood not enough anymore?" This one line had almost everyone staring at the event, hardly daring to blink. Harry glanced over his shoulder at his mate, who gave a slight nod.

"They were taken by us to our weyr," she whispered, barely vocalising the words at all, knowing he'd hear them, "so that makes them our Damsels in Distress, I suppose." She and Harry had become aware of a definite draconic trend to their thoughts and instincts now, particularly when someone threatened what was _theirs_. It made them... irritable.

"Can't make up your mind without the Mudblood? Maybe I was wrong about who Greengrass is-!-" He got no further as Harry was suddenly _there_, right in his face, and before Draco could finish his sentence, the raven-haired wizard-wyrm had driven his fist deep into the Malfoy's gut, forcibly turning the Slytherin as he did so, a half circle, leaving Malfoy facing back at his own 'bodyguards' as he expelled the contents of his stomach across them.

Harry thrust his right hand towards them, the gleam of the Hall's lights on his signet calling it to attention, even as Hermione came around the table to stand beside him, thrusting out the smaller lady's style signet _she_ wore. Gasps of recognition filled the Hall as these rings demanded recognition... and received it.

"Draco Abraxus Malfoy," Harry intoned, his voice low, and yet perfectly audible to everyone in the vast Hall. "Gregory Johnathan Goyle. Vincent Buster Crabbe. I, Harry James Potter, Duke of Slytherin..."

"And I," added Hermione, "Hermione Jane Potter, Duchess of same..."

"Hereby render our Judgement," they chorused. It was unpractised, but it was better than even the Weasley twins could manage, and they were the first to acknowledge it. "We find the three of you unworthy of the House of Slytherin, and cast you forth, where none who bear the green and silver may call you kith, kin or kind." As the green and silver colours fled the three boys, Harry leaned forwards and let his dragonfear slip its leash, just a little.

"My advice," he hissed at Malfoy (fortunately in English rather than Parseltongue), "is that you and your goons 'voluntarily' withdraw from school. You see, after dinner, my friends and I are going to find and practice the _Sectio_ charm. It's a wonderful aid in surgery, especially as regards... well, let's just say if you don't leave intact on your own, then you _will_ leave later, but _two stone lighter_, if you get my drift." As Malfoy paled, Harry went on. "I've just realised something else, you know. My oath as Head of House and Duke of Slytherin requires me to punish bad faith... What's Malfoy mean again? You have three days." Harry turned and sat down.

As he did, he saw Hermione's eyes widen just a bare instant before Draco's '_Incendio_' washed over him. The anger and rage in that spell amplified it, causing what was normally a burst of flames to become a roaring pillar of fire, one centred on Harry Potter. True to form, of course, Harry's actions on seeing his mate's reaction were taken to protect the people next to him, shoving Daphne and Dean Thomas, who'd been at Harry's right, away from himself before the fire hit.

Among the screams and the chaos, the panic and mayhem, Hermione leaped across the table, as Crabbe moved to intercept her, grabbing her wrists as though she were the girl she seemed, while Goyle stepped forward to grab Daphne, the teachers were already moving, set to act, calling out for Malfoy to stop.

"You know what, Potter?" Draco sneered, addressing the conflagration that occupied the space where Harry had sat. "I think I'll take the mudblood _and _the blood-traitor... and since you're dead now... oops." As Hermione broke into laughter, and Draco turned to see what was funny, and before the rapidly approaching teachers could intervene, a mocking voice rose from the flames, and the Malfoy heir froze and paled, even more than he was usually.

"Damn, and these were new robes, too," Harry said, disdainfully. His bare arm emerged from the curtain of fire and swept sideways, parting the flames and dashing them aside. The upper half of his robes were completely gone, and as the young hero stepped from the dissipating flames, the lower half also succumbed, leaving him standing there in his uniform trousers and the smouldering remains of his shirt, which amounted to his collar, tie and the front of his shirt.

As everyone stared at the male half of the Crimson Couple, the other half decided Crabbe had held her arms more than long enough, and with a fast inward spiral of her arms, dislocated both of his wrists before crashing her knee up into his groin. While this was happening, Daphne, noticing how close to her Goyle was, panicked and reached deep inside herself to stop him. Touching on the core of frost and winter within, she sank her magical grip into it, raised her hand palm outward and _pushed_.

Goyle froze as she raised her hand, and on seeing no wand, continued forwards, until Daphne's frostwing side unleashed the mid-winter ice upon him, freezing him in a block of ice from toes to navel... and Goyle kept his wand in his pocket. Crabbe was down, and definitely not going anywhere, and Malfoy began to shake with fear as Harry gathered all the fire that had been left of that unleashed upon him into a globe the size of a quaffle in his hand, then hurled it back in a stream of barely controlled wildfire. When the flames were gone, so was Draco's hair... even his eyebrows... and his wand lay on the floor, burning to ash. Harry then drove his fist into the panicking Malfoy's abdomen, driving the breath from him in an explosive grunt, dropping the young pureblood to his knees.

By the time the teachers arrived, it was over. "That does it!" McGonagall shouted. "Mr Malfoy, you are expelled at once! As are these two," here she waved her hand at the incapacitated Crabbe and Goyle. "Get yourselves outside the wards without delay, and your things will be sent to you. As for you three..." She turned to glare at the students who had retaliated devastatingly to Malfoy's assault. "I am loath to reward violence, but twenty points to Gryffindor and ten to Slytherin for such an excellent Defence demonstration. Try not to let it happen again."

Harry answered with a line David Granger had given him. "If violence isn't your last resort, you didn't resort to enough of it," he muttered, and deep within his now-draconic soul, instinct and intellect came together.

* * *

With Draco gone from the castle, to say nothing of Crabbe and Goyle, the Slytherin presence in Harry's year-level was much reduced. Classes were more peaceful, as the main protagonist was absent, and the others who might have stepped into his shoes were cowed (for now at least) by the show of power in the Great Hall. Harry took advantage of this peace to study harder, both in class and with an eye to the rapidly-approaching final task. He and Hermione even asked Professor Binns to cover a section of Magical History other than the Goblin Wars, by the simple ploy of pointing out that with dragons in the Hogsmeade valley, it might be an idea to know about the Dragon Hunts. The history was obviously biased in the wizards' favour, but by carefully sifting, they gleaned a number of facts and laws to check out.

Lucius Malfoy had tried to have Draco's expulsion overturned, but ran into resistance from the Board of Governors. They had children in the school, too, and Lucius' son had put them all in danger with his last event. Unfortunately, he managed to put enough pressure on Karkaroff to have the ponce enter Durmstrang, although the students already here did _not_ make him welcome, and Crabbe and Goyle were either not as lucky, or much luckier. It was hard to decide. The first time he tried to swagger, he was... educated by Kolya, the Headmaster's nephew. Kolya was older than Harry and Hermione, about the same age as Krum, but he was not as powerful a Dragon as they. The Crimean Black did not breathe out fire, although it was the fastest and most agile flyer among the wyrms. It was also the quietest. Still he was strong enough to make the lesson stick.

Draco's second attempt was a slander against the less-than-pure blood of Bryn. The Eisenheim name meant she was a half-blood, at best, and the former blond, now bald scion of Malfoy (his hair and eyebrows weren't growing back) was eager to make use of a perceived advantage to gain standing. Her reaction had been to stare at him. Nothing more than that. She looked around at the others from Durmstrang, then at those from Beauxbatons, then finally back at Draco. "Hmm?" she mused, as her gaze narrowed to a single point... his throat. She did little more, cocking her head to one side as he blustered. Reaching out with lightning speed, she picked up the young wizard by the collar, and held him at arm's length as she stared at the struggling youth dangling from her fist. "No. I can see no use for you." Dropping him to the ground, where he collapsed and struggled to recover his breath, she wandered off towards the Oversized carriage that housed the Beauxbatons students, including that cute Chinese boy she'd been dating since the Yule Ball.

* * *

Despite several attempts, the Minister failed to push the laws he wanted through. If he wanted this done right, he had to make certain of it now. The ICW had appointed a new Supreme Mugwump, and their envoy was sitting in on every meeting of the Wizengamot. After the Sage had printed that article about Umbridge and her qualifications (or more accurately, lack of same), the response from the people (especially those who'd gone to Hogwarts at the same time as the witch in question) had been crippling, and he'd been forced to find someone else. No matter. He had managed to lay down a few new laws and amendments before the Wizengamot was hung in the balance. Those laws were of little use _now_, but would certainly be of benefit in the future, although he didn't want to tip his hand too soon.

The afternoons discussions then turned to a discussion of those... creatures... that were invading Hogsmeade Valley. The 'evidence' was overwhelming, claimed Madam Umbridge, the Minister's Undersecretary, proving that the 'so-called Great Dragons' were simply beasts with an instinct for stockpiling the hard-earned gold that belonged to wizards. Madam Bones countered with actual evidence and eyewitness accounts, and an attempt to bring forth the charges against Draco Malfoy. Although she failed to persuade in the latter case, she was eloquent enough in the former to set the Ministry back quite a ways... especially when she went through some of the archaic 'laws' that had been pressed into being back then, and how nothing had been done about the Dragons until the Ministry of that time, or its equivalent, had discovered that the Great Dragons hoarded gold. She even managed to repeal a few of the older and more 'useless' laws.

The sessions drew to a close with no clear winner, although Amelia had taken careful note of exactly who was cosy with Fudge. She didn't like the picture that was becoming clearer before her eyes, and remembered the section of her niece's oath as the Reeve. As the regent for House Bones, she couldn't do as much as she'd like,but what she was thinking was insane...

As the Chief Witch was about to close the session, Madam Amelia Bones stood. "I would like to bring forth a long overdue procedure. I have studied all the relevant laws and protocols, and wish to move that the chamber rescind the charges against the fugitive Sirius Black." She paused for the hubbub to die back to a manageable level. "During my time as Head of the DMLE, certain discrepancies were brought to my attention, and so I sought the records of the man's trial. Imagine my surprise when it was found their was not one. While the then-Head of DMLE Bartemius Crouch and Minister Bagnold were responsible for his capture and incarceration, the Minister had stepped down and Mister Crouch had transferred by the time the docket for Black's trial crossed anyone's desk, and that is where the trail ends. The records were not sealed, witches and wizards, because as Head of DMLE, they were still accessible to me and to my predecessor. Even so, sealed records would still indicate a trial. What I found was a complete and utter absence of records, such that a Head of an Ancient and Noble House, a Lord among us, was disposed of because he might be in the way. I raise the point: If this can be done to one of us, it can be done to any of us. I hereby move that the Wizengamot pass a new law, one that states that no human, witch or wizard, is above the law, that all must receive trials in a timely manner, with all due care for justice, as soon as possible. Thus we safeguard ourselves."

The law was seconded almost immediately, and she read out her proposed draught, browbeating those who might otherwise have stood against it. Where such as Malfoy claimed it infringed on pureblood prerogatives, she pointed out that it insured that purebloods would never be sentenced for crimes they did not commit, or were influenced by such measures as the Imperius Curse. He could hardly object to that, since he himself had been a victim thereof, had he not? In the end, the law passed by an overwhelming majority, because those who would have opposed dared not, lest they expose themselves as supporting injustice, or even plotting treason.

"That done and dealt with, since we are here assembled in sufficient numbers, I move that we hold the trial of Sirius Black," Amelia announced, moving ahead with her plan.

Fudge protested, of course. It had been quite a long session and he just wanted to go home. "Such a trial would, by your own law, require that the defendant be present, and I strongly doubt anyone is doing so here." Amelia didn't answer in words, instead drawing what at first glance might have been a doll from her pocket and enlarging it with her wand... to reveal Sirius Black!


	18. Chapter 18

**On Crimson Wings.**

**Part 1 of The Heart of the Dragon.**

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Harry Potter, the world or the characters. They belong to J. , with gratitude for letting us play with them. The challenge comes from GoldenSteel, with gratitude for the ideas. The only thing I could lay claim to are the story and plotline, but that just seems greedy..._

Draconic Communication is indicated this way: ¤_**I'm a Dragon, too!**_¤

**Chapter 18: From Riddle to Riddle...**

The Wizengamot chamber was silent for a full five minutes, in shock, before erupting into a cacophony of protests and accusations. The Chief Witch, however, slammed the orb against its plate, cutting through the noise to establish some semblance of order. Sirius testimonies under Veritaserum had cleared his name, despite the attempts by Lucius Malfoy and the other 'former' Death Eaters to block him. Their insistence on the Head of an Ancient and Noble House not being required to submit to the truth potion, and thus being unable to substantiate their words, were met by the Lord Black's cheerful waiving of that prerogative, volunteering, no, _demanding _that he be dosed... by an auror trusted by both himself and Amelia Bones.

In the end, however, he was cleared. Although his testimony might have been shaky about the identity of another, thus rendering his memories unusable in court for prosecution, they had no such ambiguity about himself.

"Can you tell us your name?" Amelia asked him. Despite the Veritaserum, some of Sirius humour remained, as evidenced by his answer.

"Yes," he said. The seconds drew out, before the members of the court realised he'd finished his answer.

"What is your name?" She tried again, with more success.

"Sirius Orion Black, sometimes known as Padfoot, and also known as Stubby Boardman, but I'm not sure why." His voice, while flat and monotone, still held that ineffable spark that made the man memorable.

"Did you kill thirteen muggles and Peter Pettigrew on November third, 1981?"

"I did not."

"Explain your statement."

"I caught up to the man I thought was my friend, Pettigrew, on that date, barely ahead of two aurors, and he yelled words to effect of an accusation of James and Lily's betrayal at me, before the street behind him exploded. I was struck by a chunk of concrete, and rendered somewhat incoherent by the probable concussion. Before I had any chance to speak, beyond hysteria and self-recrimination at having failed my friends, I was stunned and woke up in Azkaban."

By sticking solely to questions that involved him alone, Amelia managed to clear Sirius of the crimes for which he'd been imprisoned, and then ceded the interrogation to her opponent.

"Lord Black," he sneered, "is it not true that you come from a traditionally Dark Family?"

"The Blacks had that reputation."

"When did you give your oath to Voldemort?" The prosecutor was obviously trying to trip up his story, but even popped on Veritaserum, this was Sirius Black!

"I have never and will never give such an oath."

"How long have you served him?"

"Which him are you talking about? The question is unclear."

"How long have you served the Dark Lord?"

"Again, which one? There have been several throughout Britain and Europe, although I have never served any of them."

The poor prosecutor was less than an inch from ripping his hair out. "Why did you betray the Potters?"

"I didn't," Sirius replied. "If you have any more questions, I suggest you hurry, as I can feel the Veritaserum wearing off."

The lawyer glared at him. "No further questions."

* * *

The Daily Sage's headline was a marvellous thing, thought Harry, as he snuggled into Hermione's side in their weyr. "**Lord Black a White Hat!**" it proclaimed, "**Compensation Clears Slate for Illegal Imprisonment!**" Harry was reading the article over Luna's shoulder as the tiny blonde seer leaned against the cushions of the Crimson Couple's sleeping area. Between the Greengrasses and the Delacours, they had managed to purchase some very high quality sand, and it was being delivered by the enthusiastic Dobby, with some assistance from the forlorn Winky, the former House Elf of Barty Crouch. Hermione had been devouring everything she could find on the house elf bonds and servitude, which admittedly wasn't much, and had finally broken down and asked the two elves if they wanted to serve the Houses of Potter and Black, and the Duchy of Slytherin, a prospect that the overjoyed elves had embraced quickly, even negotiating for their pay... although any other servant would have been arguing to get _more_, rather than less.

The various hunters throughout the valley had not made it easy for any of the wyrms to assume their natural forms, although Kolya certainly had it easiest, though not to say it was easy. His scales were midnight black, and the title of stealthiest flier had long been held by his breed. None of the encounters had yet resulted in casualties, although there had been a couple of close calls. Harry had unbundled the weapons he'd recovered from the Potter vault for this purpose. During the Easter break he and Hermione had asked for (and paid for the privilege of) training with some goblin weapon-masters with these. Hermione had found a talent for wielding a whip, one barbed throughout its length with goblin-steel spikes, and tipped with a small, dagger-like blade. Harry, on the other hand, was less subtle, with a big axe, although not so large as MacNair's had been. Training with these was surprisingly simple for the Crimson Couple, although they were by no means ready to fight with them.

Daphne was at the far end of the weyr with her sister, as well as Fleur and Gabrielle, practising the use of their abilities. Cedric was there as well, and as inured to the 'cold-heart' aura of a frostwing as the allure of a veela. Tomorrow was the final task, and dinner had been a quiet affair, overshadowed by the thoughts of the challenges that would be inside the maze. Hagrid had a part in it, which meant there would be creatures he considered cuddly, and anyone sane, or even Luna, considered downright lethal. The Champions had all gathered and undertaken an exchange of information in the spirit of co-operation, but the information hadn't amounted to much. Harry was fairly sure that the only Dragon in the maze would be him, and once Neville had taken the Champions as a group on a tour of Professor Sprout's greenhouses, they all concluded that the hedges of the maze themselves were another part of the challenge.

As their friends were assisted from the Chamber, the Crimson Couple turned to each other, sliding back to their draconic selves once more. Nuzzling against each other, they moved back through the Chamber, right up to the edge of their weyr, and began their dragonsong. Vibrant and haunting, wordless and poignant, the harmony rang across the lake and all about the castle. Theodore Nott shifted uneasily in his sleep in the Slytherin dungeon-level dorms, and Draco's dreams took a turn for the worse, cold sweat dousing him in his hammock on the Durmstrang vessel. Bryn and Kolya, on the deck of that very ship, smiled, and joined the song, and from the direction of the Beauxbatons carriage, there came the voices of Isabeau and Jin, and the six voices wound about each other through the night.

* * *

The mist was slowly burning off as the sun rose, and the four Champions gathered before the entrance to the maze, listening to Ludo Bagman as he announced the rules for the task.

"It's simple," he said. "In order, Harry, followed by Cedric, Viktor, and then Fleur, will each enter the maze at intervals determined by your points thus far. The first one to claim the Triwizard Cup wins. Should any of you encounter trouble you can't handle, merely send up red sparks, and someone will come to get you out. There are obstacles in the maze, enchantments, illusions and creatures alike, that will make the going harder. Should you have been clever, and memorised or made maps of the mazes layout while you had the chance, don't trust them... the maze shifts with time, changing its layout. As each of the blasts go off, you head on in. Good Luck!"

With the first blast, Harry moved into the maze, getting out of sight quickly. Cedric wasn't that far behind, after all. From the corner of his eye, he noted the other Champions undergoing their 'good luck' rituals (a quick kiss between Fleur and Cedric, and another between Viktor and Katie Bell) before leaving them all behind. The hidden wyrm was wearing the armoured robes of his office as the Hunter, and had his wand out and ready. He'd finally picked up the knack of pushing draconic magic through the magical focus, resulting in greater range, duration and effect for the energy he used than without it, and he wasted no time in conjuring a replica of his axe to sling in place on his back. He knew there was neither time nor magic to waste in here, and quickened his pace.

The first 'obstacle', the walls of the maze itself, were of little challenge to him, as he huffed a small amount of flame at them, light scorches being sufficient to make the wayward hedges behave... for now. The first illusion he encountered was a simple one, turning everything on its head, and disorienting him for a moment or two, until his senses reported that up and down were right where they'd always been. Leaping through the 'reverse-gravity' area, he moved on. A mist-filled gap in the thick hedges beckoned, and he moved towards it, seeing what looked like... MacNair? But he was forbidden the school grounds, wasn't he? And the head at his feet... Hermione! Her Dragon form... he'd recognise those horns and the rusty-red scales anywhere...

The panic lasted a fraction of a second as he felt his mate through their heart-bond, knowing her to be safely outside the maze, and he grinned. A boggart. He knew what to do with those... "Riddikulus!" he shouted, brandishing his wand and pushing through enough magic to do the trick. The image of MacNair turned and raised his axe, a massive thing meant to sever the necks of all sorts of dangerous 'beasts'... and the Hermione's 'head' opened its eyes, rose from the ground 'revealing' her neck was _not_ severed, and grabbed the beast-killer by one leg and began to play catch. Grinning as the boggart, having split itself to create the scene, was now forced to feed on the 'fear' of 'MacNair'... or in other words, began to eat itself. As he moved on, Harry idly wondered why it wasn't a dementor...

Cedric found himself conjuring a flute and playing like mad, trying to segue into a lullaby. He'd found Hagrid's favourite pet, Fluffy. An odd name for a Cerberus, but if that's what it answered to, _he_ wasn't going to try and change its mind by any means. If it hadn't been for the rumours of Harry's adventures from his first year, Cedric's fourth, the Hufflepuff doubted he would have remembered this little tidbit of information...

Krum hated Herbology. Fortunately, he was _very_ good at the cutting curse, and he was able to fend of the devil's snare long enough for the mist to burn off completely, forcing the shadow-loving plant to back off. In the distance he heard Cedric's flute, and he hurried on towards the next obstacle...

Fleur was not in the best of moods. Her hands wreathed in flames, she hurled herself at the very walls of the maze, burning her way through where there were no brambles, and lightly dancing over them where there were. A maze, for a child of the Firebird Katrina, however far removed, was little challenge... that harpy that came swooping in after her, though... Maybe she had something to take her temper out on after all...

Harry rounded the corner and found himself standing before a sphinx. The body of an oversized lion, the wings of an eagle, sized to match, the head and breasts of a woman ('How sharper than a serpent's tooth is the scorn of a woman...' He knew it was a misquotation, but it fit) with a set of teeth that would not have looked out of place in a badger's mouth. And a sense for riddles that rivalled a dragon's.

Harry took a seat on a bench and smiled. "Go ahead," he said, waving for the sphinx to speak. "One-for-one until one of us misses one... but I warn you, my Mine has been reading these for years and drumming them into my head for months."

The sphinx grinned, a disconcerting sight for most, what with as many teeth as were displayed. "And I've been inventing and asking them for centuries, young Scaled Lord," she replied. "He who makes it, does not want it. He who buys it, does not use it. He who uses it, does not know it. What is it?"

"Coffin," Harry answered. "Hmm. Try this one. By daytime I lie pooled about, at night I cloak like mist. I creep inside shut boxes, and inside your tightened fist. You see me best when you can't see, for I do not exist. What am I?"

"Darkness," the sphinx replied. "My turn..."

* * *

The other three Champions could not believe their eyes. It had taken most of the day, but they'd found their way to this bottleneck in the maze, only to find the youngest Champion happily trading riddles back and forth with a sphinx. A sphinx that had just put forth a really confusing one. "I have oceans without water, mountains without land, towns that have no people, deserts without sand. What am I?"

"A map," Harry said. He then looked around, noticing the others about him. "Oh, hey guys." Turning back to the sphinx, he sighed. "As much fun as this has been, I'd better wrap this up. When you know me not, I am something, but when you know me, I am nothing. What am I?"

The sphinx paused, tapping at the ground with the claws on a fore-paw. After a five-minute span, she shrugged. "I have no idea, Lord of Fire," she said at last, and Viktor started a little at the odd title. "What is the answer to this riddle?"

Harry smiled. "It is its own answer, a riddle." With that, he stepped past her. The sphinx looked up at the other Champions and waved them by with her paw.

"Go on, Champions, pass through, I'm all out of riddles for you," she said, moving to the bench that Harry had been seated on and curling up. "I need a nap..."

Glancing at each other, the three champions waste no further time, and emerged into the centre of the maze where they could see Harry strolling towards the Triwizard Cup. There was no warning when the Acromantula leapt out from its cover, no time for anyone to react, and yet, Harry did. It was only Viktor who was surprised by what happened, although the other two were somewhat taken aback by the sheer volume of fire that Harry spat forth, roasting the oversized spider in mid-air, and batting it to one side with his war-axe. As it hit the ground with a horrible squeal of agony, they saw Harry reach up and grin. "Maybe we can call this a-"

They didn't catch the rest of his sentence as once he'd grabbed the cup, he disappeared.

* * *

Hermione jumped to her feet and began forcing her way past the crowds. Harry's sudden disappearance could only be attributed to a portkey, such as the one that they'd used so long ago... was it really only last Summer? It also had to be authorised, or it wouldn't have punched through the wards like that. Her sense of her mate was thin, attenuated by distance, so he'd gone a long way, which meant she had to get moving _now_, and she had to move fast. As she burst free from the crowd she nearly ran straight into Professor McGonagall, although she did shrug the Headmistress' hand from her shoulder with an apology.

"Harry's gone, someone set it up, I have to go get him, bye!" Without waiting for her favourite teacher's response, she raced into the darkness, not even noticing the lurking presence of one Draco Malfoy...

Draco had been stewing over the offences against him, and laid them all at the feet of Harry Potter. Now, here was an unlooked for and unequalled opportunity to do him harm. Slinking in pursuit of that Mudblood Granger, he waited until they were secluded before raising his wand and uttering the spell his father had driven into his head as being the best to use in this situation. "_Imperio_."

Hermione froze as she felt the familiar spell wash over her, suddenly glad she'd hidden her resistance to it. If whoever was doing this had known of that little talent, they'd have done something else, and although she knew she was more resistant to magic than most could imagine, she wasn't totally immune, and didn't want to find out what would have happened otherwise. Here, at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, she had been about to shift back to her draconic form. Now, she really wanted to know who this fool who thought he could keep her from Harry's side was before she... killed him? That was new... her draconic side was violent and primal in nature, but surely she didn't want to kill someone, did she?

Draco stepped into her field of view, cocky, brash and confident, and all hesitation and doubt about his death was gone in an instant. "So, mudblood," he sneered, certain of his prowess with that Unforgivable, "too good to wait with the likes of others, are we? So certain that your boyfriend will win. Too bad he won't have his 'prize' waiting for him. I think I'll keep you for tonight, and when he finds your well-used corpse in the morning, he'll probably off himself and save the Dark Lord the trouble." He laughed, a cold, hard sound with no humour in it, just a black and heartless evil. "Let's see what you look like without those robes..."

Hermione grinned, and the Malfoy scion paused. He must be better at this than he thought. Then Hermione began to shift, transforming from schoolgirl to Great Dragon in a matter of seconds as Draco stood in the stunned paralysis of fear. As she lowered her muzzle and opened her mouth, with a bright red glow racing up her throat, the Blond Ferret of Durmstrang saw her teeth, sharp fangs he didn't have the time (or available mental capacity) to count. The stream of fire she unleashed finished it quickly... too quickly in her opinion... and all that remained was a small pile of fine ash that her beating wings rapidly dispersed as she leapt into the sky and flew hard.

"_Don't worry, Harry, and don't you dare die on me,_" she thought, a diamond hard edge of clarity to her mind. "_I'm on my way..._"

* * *

Harry appeared in a flare of light, the shadows of this place, a graveyard by the look of it, shrouding everything with an unearthly gloom. As he strove to regain his bearings, a chill voice hissed out, high and thin. "Take him down, Wormtail."

The disoriented wyrm tried hard to avoid the bracket of spells that flew his way, but all he could do was identify the spell before it struck. "_Stupefaciunt Draconi!_"

"_Wonderful,_" he thought as darkness claimed him, "_a spell _designed_ to work on dragons..._"

* * *

Groggily waking, Harry found himself bound to a gravestone, held by a body-bind curse as well as several stout chains. Someone had been prepared. A muttering voice dragged his attention to the rotund figure of Pettigrew, crouched to light a fire beneath a cauldron, which contained a viscous and vile mix that had been bubbling and frothing _before_ the rat animagus lit the fire to bring it to boiling. A tiny figure swathed in old black robes sat on a nearby rock, issuing orders in that high thin voice that Harry recognised from before the spell that struck him. He could _smell_ Pettigrew from here, the man had apparently never encountered hygiene or soap, and what he smelled was telling. The fat wizard had nearly burned out his own magical core casting the dragon-stunning curse, and he was feeling the strain and fatigue of that effort.

"Hurry, Wormtail," the... thing ordered. "This body is failing, and neither of us wants me forced to possess _you_. Begin!" When Pettigrew dropped the tiny form into the cauldron, Harry's mind blanked for a second. Surely he wasn't killing his master, was he?

Pettigrew raised his wand and banished the lid of a nearby stone coffin, the headstone leaning against it proclaiming the identity of the occupant. Thomas Riddle. "Bone of the father, unknowingly stolen, you will restore your son!" the former Marauder chanted, and Harry realised he was caught up in a ritual of some sort, and that the whole 'restore your son' thing was _bad news_. He struggled against the body bind, and felt it give a little. Not enough, though.

The rat animagus braced himself by the edge of the cauldron, and drew a silver knife that would have seemed at home butchering cattle, sweeping it through his right forearm. His master had been quite specific about which arm he had to use, something about the Dark Mark interfering with the rite he was using. As his hand dropped into the vile liquid in the vessel, Pettigrew choked back his cry of pain and chanted again. "Flesh of the servant, willingly sacrificed, you will revive your master!"

Harry's struggles got a little further as Wormtail's pain interfered with his magic. He was almost free, but he was out of time. Wormtail was beside him, cutting into his left arm, a little below the basilisk-fang scar, and collected the blood on the blade of the knife. If he had not been in such pain, he might have noticed the way the blood seared and ate away at the silver, taking some with it as he dropped the boiling, caustic liquid into an already horrendous and dangerous mixture, but he was already chanting as it fell. "Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe!"

The explosion that destroyed the cauldron scattered its chunks wide, with one handle bouncing off Harry's chest as a large triangular piece embedded itself in Wormtail's thigh. As the wave-front rolled over Harry, it ripped apart the last shreds of the body-bind, leaving him only the chains to contend with. As Pettigrew screamed, and the disguised wyrm braced himself for better leverage, he saw the shape that had been in the cauldron. It had apparently absorbed the entire concoction in the vessel, and was twisting and writhing as it took form, a definite humanoid shape too, but pale and hairless, with fine white scales in places, and thin nostrils in an almost non-existent nose. The body was exactly as Voldemort had designed it to be... except for one glaring flaw. Thick, red, ropey veins stood out against the surrounding paleness like rivers on a map, bulging beyond natural causes. On seeing these obvious imperfections, the Dark Lord lost his temper. Grabbing his wand from the prostrate Pettigrew, he turned and lashed out with a Cruciatus curse at the former Marauder. While it did cause the fat wizard to writhe in agony, the returned Dark Lord discovered a major drawback to stealing the blood of Dragons for yourself. The only thing keeping his body together was his magic, as was standard for a homunculus, of whatever design. But in this case, one of the components was actively toxic to, and inimical towards, the rest of his body. When he wielded magic to strike down Wormtail with agony, the blood in his veins boiled and burned, as bad as the Cruciatus in its own way.

The Dark wizard who called himself Voldemort screamed, and immediately discarded the thought of summoning his followers. The magical effort would leave him in agony, and he was not willing to show weakness before his minions. They might get it into their heads to try and take his position for themselves, and that would never do. No, he had to finish here and retreat, that was all. After he was away, with Pettigrew dealt with for ruining the ritual (conveniently ignoring the fact that it had been at Voldemort's bidding), he would find a way to either harness this new power, or to purify himself, and then he would rule over all... He turned towards the imprisoned Dragon in human guise, and raised both his own wand, and the one he'd had taken from the boy earlier. It would hurt, but he would not leave an angry wyrm behind him.

But when he looked, the only thing attached to the gravestone were melted chains.

* * *

Hermione's wings ached, a deep burn in the muscles, a sensation that said she was pushing hard. There was a small village down there, and as she flew barely below the clouds, she could make out a graveyard at one end. The silence-shattering rumble she'd heard a few minutes back told her something was going on down there, and the brilliant glow of applied fire-breath was a dead give-away even if she hadn't known where her Harry was. She came in low and backwinged to a halt outside the wall, and was over it in a trice, following her mate's scent.

In the dark, unless you have some means of seeing as clearly as daylight (like a Dragon), red is almost as hard to make out as black. That said, it is little wonder that Voldemort stayed close to the fire that was all that was left of his cauldron. Wormtail had gained consciousness long enough to put his stump into the flames and cauterise the wound before passing out once more, so he was useless at the moment. He caught a glimpse of fiery emerald eyes that were far too big to be human, and raised the stolen wand, holly and phoenix, and began to incant. "Ava-"

He got no further as Hermione, seeing where he was aiming the lethal curse, spat forth a gout of dragonfire that annihilated the wand, as well as the Dark Lord's hand and forearm, all flaring into ash in an instant. Voldemort stepped back, in a moment of panic, and lifted the yew and phoenix feather in his other hand, but got just as far before Harry's blast of fiery breath engulfed the villain's arm from wand to shoulder, and set his very flesh alight. The Dark Lord that inspired such terror that most of wizarding Britain wouldn't voluntarily say his name fled, in his pain and terror as _two_ auras of dragonfear drove into him ignoring the pain that his own blood was causing him in order to apparate away.

The two Dragons stared at the empty space where Voldemort had disappeared for a moment, then came together, rubbing their sides against each other as they inspected their bodies for injuries. A burst of healing magic to Harry's only wound dealt with that quite easily. As one they turned to the unconscious form of Wormtail. With Sirius' liberation, they no longer needed the traitorous rat to clear his name. ¤_**What do you think, Mine? What should we do with him?**_¤ Harry mused aloud.

His mate smiled. ¤_**We shouldn't kill him. Draco had it end too quickly that way, no justice in it.**_¤ She almost laughed at Harry's attempt to raise an eyebrow. ¤_**I'll tell you later, my love. Let's leave it as "I was in a hurry" for now. But with this one... Mindwipe, leave him as a rat forever? Too merciful. Wait, I've got it! Listen to this...**_¤

* * *

Miles away, in a well-kept manor, Lucius Malfoy sat negotiating the bridal contract between Tiberius Parkinson's daughter Pansy and Draco. The girl was present, having quoted 'Family Business' to the teachers, but the boy was not, as Durmstrang had different school rules which would have prevented Draco from being here. They were almost at the stage to sign the official documents when, with a crash of collapsing wards and screams of agony worse than any Crucioed victim had ever made, a wreck of a body, missing arms and burning with yellow-white fire, dropped into the centre of the room and died. The abyss-black soul that rose from the corpse turned and hurled itself at the least protected mind and body in the room, beginning a process that occasioned screams and pain to rival those already heard.

In the nigh-forgotten halls of a dilapidated and filthy town-house in one of London's seedier neighbourhoods, an ancient house-elf watched as a locket he'd spent so long guarding, so long trying to destroy, annihilated itself in a burst of yellow-white fire. The house-elf, seeing his long vigil at an end, smiled, and died, ignoring the screeching of a woman's portrait to not leave her alone.

* * *

Peter Pettigrew woke up in a cell. He was in Azkaban, he could tell. The presence of dementors was unmistakable. Written on the wall were the words: "What you give out, comes back three-fold. Enjoy the next thirty-six years, Traitor." The guards who found him later that night caught him laughing hysterically, madder than Bellatrix Lestrange.


	19. Chapter 19

**On Crimson Wings.**

**Part 1 of The Heart of the Dragon.**

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Harry Potter, the world or the characters. They belong to J. , with gratitude for letting us play with them. The challenge comes from GoldenSteel, with gratitude for the ideas. The only thing I could lay claim to are the story and plotline, but that just seems greedy..._

Draconic Communication is indicated this way: ¤_**I'm a Dragon, too!**_¤

**Author's** Note: Although this is the last chapter in On Crimson Wings, it is _not_ the end of the story. The next chronicle in The Heart of the Dragon is Beneath Azure Skies, although it may take some time before I begin it. I have some other stories I wish to catch up with first. To all those who have followed this story so far, thank you, and I hope you have enjoyed the tale. I bow before you in gratitude, because no author gets anywhere without his or her readers. May the koalas always approve you.

**Chapter 19: The End of the Beginning.**

When Harry vanished right before their eyes, the other three Triwizard Champions wasted no time raising their wands and releasing a stream of red sparks from each, fountaining them high above the hedges of the maze. When they were lifted out by broomstick, they quickly told the Heads of each school what had happened. On hearing the events that had played out, Igor Karakaroff went pale, and began to look around nervously. The two headmistresses, however, took charge as best they could, and by the time anyone looked for Hermione, she was gone. It took almost thirty minutes to settle everything down to the point where organisation of any kind of response was possible, but with Professor McGonagall in charge, that didn't take long at all. Madam Hooch was dispatched to the castle at top speed to call in the aurors, while Professors Hagrid and Sprout were set to dismantling the maze. If there was anything the Transfiguration Mistress had learned while Dumbledore's Deputy, it was efficiency.

Daphne and Luna stayed close, well within arm's reach of each other, as the chaos surged around them, with the young Ravenclaw steadfast and stoic, an emotional rock for the newly-discovered frostwing to cling to. The calm and confidence she radiated came from the dainty seer's faith that their friends were not just all right, but downright dangerous to whoever tried to cross them. "There's only a handful of spells potent enough to affect a full-grown Great Dragon," she whispered to Daphne, "and _those_ are specifically designed to do so. They're very rare, and are usually a kind of blood magic, so the Ministry banned them long ago. You might find one in an ancient archive or grimoire, but the cost of casting one is almost enough to burn out the magical core." Glancing at her fellow 'damsel-in-distress', she smiled. "They're on their way, now"

Amelia Bones and Sirius Black were leading several aurors towards the remnants of the maze, and the teachers were consulting with them, keeping their voices low to avoid rousing panic. It was at this point that MacNair strode in, leading his dragon-hunting team, and in his hand he carried a sack. "Bones!" he roared, and the intended target's eyes narrowed as he threw the sack towards them. When it hit the ground it split open, spilling out a fine black ash... and a wand that had once belonged to Draco Malfoy. "I found the wand back by the forest, sitting by a circle of black glass. Summoning the ashes took a while, but I have reason to believe one of those oh-so-precious winged lizards did this. I told you repeatedly those Dragons are a menace, and now they're going to keep killing until they're the only things in the valley."

The red-haired witch, who'd been acknowledged, even by her enemies, as the most effective Head the DMLE had had in decades, was furious. Was he _trying_ to cause a riot? Considering the source, she realised he was. Unfortunately for him, the inhabitants of Hogsmeade Valley had experience from almost eight months that the mated pair of Welsh Reds meant no harm to the people here, so the panicked response was muted to fear and apprehension, instead of the full-blown rout he'd been hoping for. "Well, Mister MacNair," Amelia said slowly, her gaze pinning him where he stood, "I wonder _why_ the wyrms would have done this, when to date, their biggest interactions seem to have been in defence of others. You seem somewhat eager to destroy them, and I wonder why." Waving an auror forward to investigate the evidence, she paid close attention to the results.

It was the matter of moments to determine the last spell Draco's wand had cast, and quite condemning, and the echo emanating from the slender rod was that of him placing an Imperius Curse on Hermione. Bad enough to wield an Unforgivable, but on the Lady of House Potter, and the Duchess of Slytherin at that? "I think we can rule this a suicide," she announced.

The dragon-killer gaped for a moment or two before angrily shouting at her. "You're joking, surely? A dragon has killed a pureblood, and your calling it a suicide?"

"Of course," Madam Bones responded. "Because if he hadn't fed himself to it, Lord Potter would have killed him, and legally so. For that matter, Lady Potter could have done so. We have no evidence she didn't. The Dragon may have merely cleaned up the mess." Summoning her Patronus, she gave it instructions. "Tell all aurors: Priority is the location and assistance of the Duchess Slytherin, and no 'accidents', or someone's hide is going to be nailed to my wall."

"Madam Bones," MacNair sneered, "if you have no other business, my hunters and I will get back to trying to find the monsters that are responsible for this." He turned, and as he began to walk away, there was a massive clap of displaced air as Harry and Hermione appeared at the last location of the Triwizard Cup, at the centre of the remnants of the maze, with anger in their eyes and outrage in their stance. As they strode towards their friends, Harry threw the Cup to Professor McGonagall, even as he stood before the man who liked killing beasts.

"Should there be another Tournament, it might be an idea to make sure that the trophy isn't a portkey to an unknown destination," he said softly. Turning his head to Madam Bones, he spoke quietly, yet loud enough for all that, his voice pitched to project without shouting. "A person identifying themselves as the Dark Lord Voldemort set up some Dark blood ritual in order to become more powerful, and if it hadn't been for my Hermione and the assistance of the two Great Dragons of this valley, I would not be here now."

Predictably, Cornelius Fudge, present to award the prize money, blathered and blustered. "You-know-who can't be back, it's impossible!" he ranted. "He's dead! And dragons are mindless monstrosities, and they've killed the son of a pureblood family. They must be destroyed!"

He wasn't prepared for Harry to snarl back, after all, he was just a child, but somehow that didn't feel important as the young wizard's eyes flared with an emerald fire, boring into his soul, as fear brought a cold sweat to drench the politician. "From what my wife tells me, Minister," he almost whispered, although in the still and hush it carried nigh as well as yelling, "the Dragon that destroyed him was rescuing her from his ill intent, as he'd just used the Imperius on her and was bragging about what he was going to do. As the injured parties in this claim, and as their Graces the Duke and Duchess of Slytherin, on whose lands this took place," there were scattered gasps as people realised what _that_ meant, "we declare his end fitting and just. Now, with all due respect, sir, this has been a long day, and we wish to go to bed, now."

Grasping at straws, Fudge tried to hang on to the last piece of his perceived influence. "But, the prize money..."

"Don't want it," Harry called back over his shoulder. "I never did. Give it to St Mungo's and the Auror Corps, they need it more than I do."

* * *

The Minister of Magic sputtered as the two children, as he saw them, totally ignored him and disappeared into the castle, followed by the other Champions and their McGonagall had requested the house-elves set out a late dinner for everyone, as with all the excitement, many had forgotten to eat. Harry and Hermione especially. There they were at the Gryffidor table, devouring large quantities of their recently favourite meal, shark steaks. On either side of the Crimson Couple sat Daphne and Luna. Between mouthfuls, Harry was recounting the fun he'd had riddling with the sphinx, and Hermione asked where he'd come up with the riddle that stumped her, as she hadn't heard it before.

"Made it up, love," he told her. "Things are really going to change after this, though." He lowered his voice. "We need to tell all our friends about the graveyard. That includes the adults who are in the know, _all_ the Champions, so we have to bring in Krum, which means brining in Katie... sometimes I wonder if we shouldn't tell Lavender and let the whole nation find out that way."

Hermione shook her head. If tonight had gone just a little differently, if they weren't Dragons, for example, she didn't want to have to think about what might have happened. As it was, Voldemort had been reborn, then subjected to dragonfire... She gasped and turned towards Luna, who nodded.

"Harry," she whispered, "the first stanza of Luna's prophecy... I think we just fulfilled it!"

His eyes widened for a moment as Harry absorbed that information. "So we have to figure out the rest? That might or might not help us? Darn. If Dumbledore was functional, he'd probably be able to tell us, not that he would tell us, but he doesn't even have all his _own_ mind these days, and I'm not sure he'd live long enough to relearn everything." Harry tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I'm not sure he'd be able to... brain damage is a funny thing. So we need help. I wonder if the other wyrms can aid us?"

On hearing the phrase 'other wyrms' Daphne went pale, hissing in surprise. "Other wyrms!? You mean to say there are other Great Dragons at Hogwarts? Who? Where? How?"

Harry turned to the frostwing witch and answered her. "Yes, Daphne, there are other wyrms here. There are six of us within the Hogsmeade Valley that is the fief of Duke Slytherin, being in the North. The domain is ours," here he pulled Hermione close to his side, trusting to the privacy wards they'd erected as the conversation took this turn, "but the other four are guests within it, two each from the other schools. Great Dragons are very rare these days, I guess. I only know eight, and half of them are from other countries."

"There are _eight_ Dragons! Eight of your kind? That's a lot of Welsh Reds..." Daphne's mind was verging on blown, she was sure.

"No, Daphne," Hermione said. "Only three of the Dragons Harry knows of are Reds: Himself, me, and my Mum. The others are different breeds altogether. One of them is... unavailable, now, and will be until he 'grows up' again, and before we can tell you more, we have to ask the others if they're willing to come out of hiding as far as you're concerned. On top of that, your family has to find out the restrictions on frostwings, we have to look into what laws are applicable to the wyrms... It might just be easier to start a whole new 'hidden nation' inside the UK than to fight the Ministry..." Her voice trailed off as her mind began running through the various ins and outs of such a thing, and shortly after that, the various wyrms and students hurried off to bed.

* * *

Walden MacNair was beside himself with fury. Every trap he'd laid out was found and destroyed, he'd found. Basic alarm wards were left intact, or rather, triggered whenever these beasts had dealt with the rest of the varying trap schemes. Ambushes had always been found out and avoided, although there had been that counter-ambush that had left his Dragonhide decidedly little-girl-lovely pink for two days before he could reverse it. No matter what he came up with, the wyrms were ready for. He hated having to do it, but he would have to call on the duties of the Weasleys and Potters, possibly through oaths. Of course, he'd have to find a way first. Not retreating, but regrouping, he decided. He would return to London and the Ministry and find someway to compel the boy and his mudblood 'bride', as if the brat fooled _him_, to join this Dragonhunt... something to do with a bloodprice owed the Malfoys, perhaps.

This would take time, but then, so would being ready for his Master's true return...

* * *

The being that called itself Lord Voldemort was rethinking his... her?... plans in light of this new development. Staring into the mirror as it ran its new hands across its new body, Voldemort sighed. The possession had been a desperate act, made in the few moments before utter destruction, and the Dark wraith Voldemort had latched onto the least defended soul in the chamber when he appeared, mere seconds before his body had burned to ashes fine as dust. That he'd wound up with the youngest body was good, but that it had been female, not so much. Lucius had sat there aghast as his master had possessed the girl he'd intended for his son, the useless fool, and Parkinson had flattened himself in obeisance. Their Dark Marks would have interfered with this possession anyway, they protected against this sort of thing to a limited degree. The girl had been unmarked, and once she realised who this possessing spirit had to be, quite pliable and willing, not like that reluctant fool Quirrel so long ago. She accepted the Dark Lord wholeheartedly and without reservation, quite happy to become a tiny part of his mind.

Good thing, that, or he'd still be trying to figure out this body. It was just so... different. Gradually, Voldemort was getting used to it, but there was more to it than that. Running... her... hands over her naked form once more, noting the reactions such touches brought and pushing the hormone-addled responses to them aside, she cast an obscure spell designed to reveal the magical core of the caster. Glaring at the strange picture this presented, the Dark... Queen, no, Empress, nothing less would do... ran her fingers over the mirror's glass. First, the core that had been Riddle's. Pitch black with sickly green veins throughout, pressed against the second core, a storm-grey veined with black that was Pansy Parkinson's, was fusing together with it, dragging the witch's magic into the gaps in its own. He'd wondered at those scars on his core, until he'd realised that the missing sections were attached to the soul fragments in his soul-anchors. He could still draw on that magic, so it had been of little concern to him. Now, he could see the strands that connected him to those anchors, but something was assuredly wrong. Of the five anchors he'd crafted, only three remained. A powerful number in its own right, but not as good at seven. And with his souls in their current state, it was not a good time to make more... maybe once this had settled down, but not now as they melded.

The Parkinson girl's memories were now his... hers, dammit... so perhaps they held an answer to all of this. Still, the brat would be no match for Voldemort, Slytherin's Heir...

The memory of Harry confronting Snape at the Yule Ball sprang to the front of her melded mind. Potter had claimed the Duchy of Slytherin! An insult not to be borne.

A final glance in the mirror before dressing revealed the third and most troubling core... a shard of draconic essence that Voldemort's own magic had sealed away in self-defence. The amalgamated villain shuddered. She could draw upon that power, certainly, but only at the cost of severe, crippling pain, and physical damage to the body... it would be a measure of last resort to tap that shimmering crimson power...

* * *

Harry and Hermione collapsed to the sand of the sleeping pit that Dobby had managed to set up in their weyr. The cushions were still present, but more as a place for guests to sit, piled up beyond the carefully warded sleeping pit. Crookshanks had been a little put out that he wasn't allowed on the sand, until Hermione had managed to communicate what this area meant. The thought that if he used their bed for a litter-box, then they';d do the same with his, kept the feline in line. The Crimson Couple, their desire for each other sated, turned their mind to more mundane musings. Crookshanks and Hedwig had indeed gotten larger, if only a little, since their master and Mistress had joined in that ceremony on the Astronomy Tower oh so long ago... had it really been over eight months? As they nuzzled into each other, snuggled close on the charmed-hot sand, they spoke in rumbling whispers.

¤_**So what happens now?**_¤ Hermione asked her mate. ¤_**Do we reveal what's happened to us, or keep it hidden? What about Sev, and the other wyrms? Do they just go home, or is there something we can do to help them?**_¤

Harry shrugged, his mahogany-scaled shoulders ruffling his wings as they settled back into place. ¤_**I don't know,**_¤ he replied. ¤_**If Sev recovers, then how he was affected by his experience will be important. If he sincerely changes, great, another ally. If he doesn't, another foe. The problem there is we can't know what happens until it does. With the other wyrms... domain adjoining ours? There aren't that many Dragons left in the UK, according to your Mum, so space isn't a problem. The big thing will be figuring out who goes where, and what to do about these beast-hunters. Then we have our duties towards the balance between all magical beings as the House of Potter, to the Crown as Duke and Duchess of Slytherin... it never ends. Atleast we have good friends to help us.**_¤ He grinned. ¤_**You know, I have to stop by Privet Drive and let the Dursleys know I won't be returning, ever again. For once I'm actually looking forward to seeing them...**_¤

As the two wyrms slipped into slumber, far to the south an overly fat walrus of a man woke screaming in cold sweat from a horrific nightmare...


End file.
